


Apokalypsis

by psychopomps_blade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst and Drama, Apocalypse, Asuras (Hindu Religion & Lore), BAMF Ginny Weasley, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Neville Longbottom, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Character Death, Coming of Age, Dark Magic, Demons, Dreamscapes, Elves, End of the World, Epic, F/F, F/M, Fae Magic, Four Horsemen, Goblins, Gods, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Magic School, Magical Artifacts, Magical Inheritance, Monsters, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Necromancy, Old Gods, Parseltongue, Realm Hopping, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Seer Luna Lovegood, Slow Romance, Soul Magic, The Deathly Hallows, Vampires, Wandless Magic, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 69,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24798421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychopomps_blade/pseuds/psychopomps_blade
Summary: ἀποκάλυψις - revelation, an unveiling or unfolding of things not previously known, and which could not be known apart from the unveiling. The Ministry falls before Harry’s 17th birthday, and threads of Fate slowly begin to unravel. Forces far older than humanity crawl from the shadows. Children break their shackles to become more, and gods are forged through magic and blood. A tale of coming-of-age, rebellion, and apocalypse, in a broken and lawless land.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 48





	1. Birth of a Family

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first-ever fic ladies and gentlemen! Starts after HBP, will be completely AU as time goes on. Cross-posting this story from FFN as a little experiment to see the differences in audience.
> 
> Favorite if you like it and be sure to leave reviews. If you hate it, let me know (seriously, fiendfyre welcome, come at me). I'm an American so you'll have to excuse my absolute rubbish understanding of UK English. I'll try to do it proper justice as much as I can. This story is going to largely be centered on a multiple-POV style around several characters. Apologies if any particular character isn't quite fleshed out as much in this chapter (*cough cough* Hermione) but background is important.
> 
> I should point out that I only have some idea where this fic is going, but not really. I have no definitive pairings and only the bare bones of a plot, but keep in mind I'm not intent on modifying a whole bunch of pre-HBP canon. However this is going to start going sideways right from the get-go. This is more of a "we'll see where we land" kind of writing journey. I am open to suggestions if you want to give them.
> 
> Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. I'm poor, for God's sake don't sue me it's a waste of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I'm updating this chapter again. I created a couple spells for this fic and have a little dictionary of spells I invented that might be put to use as time goes on. At the end of each chapter, if there are any unfamiliar or new spells I've used, I'll list them and add a quick description. Just thought it might be something cool to add in. Also have just gone through to fix typo's and word choice mistakes (AGAIN!).

**CH 1 - Birth of a Family (or the Crucible of Pain)**

_**July 14th, 1997, 1927 hours** _

He was dusting in the basement when he heard the scream.

Aunt Petunia had been preparing supper. That had been his chore, years ago. He assumed that a combination of his affinity for magic (aka 'freakishness'), and repeated threats from the Order of the Phoenix had made the Dursley family a bit more meek. In any case, that hadn't stopped them from giving their 'freaky relative,' Harry Potter, bucketloads of chores. He bent over dusty shelves, sorting through various items in the basement, cleaning off trinkets that long ago should have been consigned to rubbish bins.

He shouldn't have heard it - he knew that from the way Aunt Petunia's shrill yelp had been suddenly cut off, forcefully silenced. He _felt_ Anti-Apparation wards rise around Number 4 Privet Drive, a humming cold like the metallic bars of a cage. He froze, and waited, listening very carefully. There was no noise.

Then the silence broke. "Mum?" Dudley's usual petulant tone sounded apprehensive, yelling from the top floor. The sound carried itself through the air vents in the house, echoing artificially throughout the basement. "Are you alright?"

No answer.

Harry glanced at the dull, old watch around his wrist, a gift from Molly Weasley. Vernon was supposed to have been home an hour and a half ago. He moved behind the stairs, fumbling, looking through the _other_ cupboard, for the item he knew to be there. His mind whirred.

Who was in the house? There was no real way to tell if they were wizards or not, but it was safe to assume they were magical. How well-trained was debatable, but he really had no clue. He needed to keep himself alive. The only way to obtain his address was the Ministry, or the Order, meaning that one of the two had been compromised. It was more likely the Ministry records were the culprit, in his own unfortunate experience. Blood wards were not impenetrable, and the Improper Use of Magic Office did have his address on file.

Meaning that he probably couldn't do magic without being caught, traced, and killed.

He found what he was looking for a moment later. Vernon's Walther PPK, fully loaded. How the whale of a man managed to buy a pistol in the UK was beyond Harry's limited understanding. He knew what he was doing only because he had read the instruction manual last year, after Sirius died, wondering if he could cut the prophecy short. Not like it would help him anyway.

_...either must die at the hand of the other...for neither can live while the other survives…_

He pulled out his father's invisibility cloak and threw it over himself with a flourish, cold metal tight against his hands, gun barrel peeking from underneath the curtain of silvery fabric. He didn't need to wait long.

The door of the basement opened with a _creak_. There was no noise of footsteps down the stairs, even as the assassin slid off the last step and onto the unfinished floor.

The man was, surprisingly, dressed in muggle clothing. Jeans, T-shirt, and a leather-like jacket. Harry supposed in retrospect that Petunia would have never let any unfamiliar wizard into her house, so that made sense. He did not see Harry, and instead was peering around carefully, wand outstretched, avoiding casting a _lumos_ charm in the dimly lit basement.

The man did, however, begin to raise his wand, turning away from Harry. The boy-who-lived silently dropped the cloak, and squeezed the trigger.

_andagainandagainandAGAIN_

Harry blinked at the ringing in his ears, at the clicking gun that shivered in his hands, refusing to fire any more. With shaking hands he ejected the magazine and peeked at it.

Empty.

He looked down at the obviously dying wizard, the scent of blood ripe and sickening through the air. The assassin was aching to breathe, unseeing eyes gazing up to the unfinished ceiling of the basement, throat rattling and gurgling on his final gasps, blood dripping from his lips. Harry skittishly walked forward, kicked the wizard's wand free of his hands and waited a few seconds, trying not to vomit as he picked it up. He dry-heaved as its magic violently sparked against his palm, the reek of copper and gore swirling in a headily disgusting smell. He hesitated for a moment before snapping it in two, dropping the pieces to the floor.

The dying man didn't seem to notice.

Harry did not bother to stick around. He ran upstairs, into the kitchen. His eyes widened, and he promptly vomited into the nearest bin, his already fragile composure shattered.

His heart pounded, and he whirled away from the grisly splatter that had once been Aunt Petunia. He took the stairs up to his room two at a time, not bothering to look into Dudley's room where he was _sure_ he would see something equally horrifying. Moving in earnest, he began to throw his things together into the trunk. Given that Voldemort had returned, Harry had left his things relatively organized and ready to go at a moment's notice. He packed in less than ten minutes, tore open his window and flicked open Hedwig's cage. The owl gave an indignant squawk and a flutter of her wings, but Harry wasn't paying any attention as she landed atop his dresser.

He dragged his trunk down the stairs and to the front door. About to make a run for it, he paused, and ran to the bathroom. He grabbed the nearest towel off the rack and ran back downstairs.

Harry knelt over the body, moving carefully to not step in the growing puddle of blood. With shaky hands, he began to reach into the pockets of the wizard's jacket. Soon enough, he found a piece of paper.

It wasn't completely stained, thankfully. He looked at the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet. His own scowling face stared back at him, 15 years old.

_HARRY POTTER: UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE. Wanted for questioning in connection with the death of Albus Dumbledore._

Had he been more level-headed, he would have felt the rage boiling up inside him, his fury bubbling at the thought of being 'connected' to the murder of the manipulative but kindly man that had been his Headmaster. As it was, he only thought about getting away - to somewhere safe.

_Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry, to those who ask for it…_

He crinkled it up, shoved it in his pocket. Back up the stairs he went, and he hauled his trunk from the room. "FLY TO HOGWARTS, HEDWIG!" he roared throughout the house. He didn't wait for a hoot in reply.

He dragged his trunk outside, carrying with him everything he had ever thought he would need. He pulled out his wand as he dragged the trunk behind the house. He began to think hard about the apparition lessons he had gotten at school last year. He hadn't had time to take the test and get his license of course, but he didn't have time to worry about that now.

What were the three D's again? Destination, determination...deliberation? No that didn't quite sound right.

_Bugger this, I'm out._

With a crack, Harry Potter disappeared from Number Four Privet Drive forever.

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 2124 hours** _

Hermione Granger told herself that she would not break down, no matter the horrible nature of the crime she was about to commit.

She had turned seventeen during the school year, much to the delight of her parents, who had immediately wanted to see Hermione do magic for them at home. It was a beautiful thing, to see the expressions of pride on their faces as she performed miracles and explained concepts that were literally beyond their capacity to replicate. Their daughter was special, a young woman with the brilliance to do great things for the Wizarding World.

They would never expect her to turn her magic against them.

Hermione had reasoned with herself over and over again, convinced that this was the safest way. Her parents were quite identifiable people, and many wizards and witches had seen them in trips to Diagon Alley. If they were ever tracked down, they would be tortured mercilessly by Voldemort and his lackeys. They were just muggles, and couldn't protect themselves against mind arts that could be used to tear thoughts from their minds. They could never afford to even think of her. Wiping herself from their memory, and giving them a new identity, was the easiest way to keep them alive, safe, and happy.

And there they were, sitting on the couch, watching the latest episode of their favorite show on the telly. It wasn't so bad, really. They would absolutely love it in Australia, they'd always wanted to go. They talked of Sydney and the Gold Coast and the Barrier Reef and all the different places they'd want to see with their own eyes. So why was her wand shaking in her hand, trying to tell her otherwise? Why were there tears streaming down her face, trying to convince her to stop?

For the first time she could remember, Hermione forced herself to stop thinking. Or she tried to. She recalled the wand movement in textbook clarity, focusing on the intent to remove herself from their minds. She raised her hand, her wand gripped so tightly within it that her knuckles were white.

_Obliviate_

The spell was absorbed harmlessly by a brilliant blue _protego._ Hermione whirled around, wand outstretched. There was no one there. She turned to see a startling sight; her father stood up from the couch, a wand held loosely in his hand. Her mother was sitting quietly on the couch, looking at her forlornly.

Hermione felt her mouth open in a slight "O" of shock, her mind stuttering to a crashing halt. She looked closely at her father, and shakily raised her wand at the figure that had taken his place. He looked younger, free of wrinkles. His skin was smooth, _too_ smooth, almost artificially carved. His ears were slightly pointed at the tips, and his eyes were a sickly, shifting yellowish color. He seemed taller, larger than she remembered, and the sight of him seemed to radiate the aura of a stalking predator.

"I think we need to have a talk," he said quietly. "I'm not an impostor, this is my true form. I remember the first time you found your Hogwarts letter, you fell off your chair and spilled your porridge on the floor. When you were six, you did maths on the wall of your room in finger paint because you were bored and grounded. Shall I go on?"

Her father stood calmly, unmoving. Hermione stepped closer, her feet seemingly dragging themselves forward against her will. She perused his features, disturbed, hands shaking as she robotically catalogued the new sights before her. His eyes were practically glowing, filled with magical lustre. His pupils were slitted, like cat's eyes. His hair looked like silk. As he spoke, she noticed slight flashes of sharp razor-like teeth.

All her reading about soul magic at the end of last year kicked in, after she'd nicked books from the Restricted Section and Dumbledore's secret collection without telling Harry or Ron. She remembered how one book had described an ancient race of elves, with magic-like glowing eyes and catlike pupils. She remembered shivering, looking at the graphic depictions of ancient battles, scores of creatures slaughtered by superhuman strength and incredibly powerful wild and esoteric magic. Their race was reclusive, and there supposedly had not been a recorded encounter with an elf in centuries. It was said that they retreated from the world after the fall of the mythical Atlantis, living in a pocket dimension outside of Earth's. Another world, created by themselves, for themselves. But her father seemed one of them. The truth was looking her in the face.

_...but then..._

Her mind rapidly reached a final, batshit-insane conclusion. She conjured a mirror and shrieked.

Brilliant, glowing purple eyes and slitted black pupils stared back at her in growing horror.

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 0324 hours** _

Ginny Weasley was absolutely silent in the shadows of the Burrow. Casually glancing at herself in the bathroom, she looked at her new reflection in the charmed mirror. Blood-red hair fell in waves that drifted softly over her shoulders. Her arms were just slightly thicker than the weak tone they'd attained from Quidditch practice, a perfect curvature of defined muscle. Still beautiful, her face was thinner, sharp, regal and pale, rather than the warm heart shape and flushed cheeks it had once been. She pursed her lips and peered carefully at her own shining eyes, licked her sharp teeth, and moved on.

She glided in the darkness of the house, gracefully moving down the stairs until she reached the front door, not once creaking the old floorboards of the Burrow. No point in looking at the clock on the wall; these days, it said "Mortal Peril" for everyone in the house except her. Her family just assumed that it was broken. They were wrong. Ginny was stronger, now, and wouldn't die easily in a fight. The only positive side effect, she supposed, in a sea of negatives. After all, she had no mortality for peril to threaten anymore.

She absently fingered the small scars on the left side of her throat underneath the glamour charm hiding them from view. She had cried for days when she had awoken in a demolished corner of Hogwarts, her skin cold like ice, her heart beating slowly forevermore. Her family had been horrified when Bill was attacked by a werewolf, but he was ok now, simply a bit of a carnivore. What would they say upon discovering that she had been turned into a vampire? What would Harry say, if he knew his love was a monster? (even though he'd pretended that he would have to leave her after Dumbledore's untimely death, the sodding git. She'd been too absorbed in her guilt to care about his affront, then.)

Outside, in the cold air of the night, there was not a single noise. Ginny had felt the stillness before the storm that day, while her brothers joked and laughed on their old Cleansweep 7's above sprawling fields. The Burrow was surrounded by a sea of deadly calm.

The tempest would begin tonight, she knew. It felt like Fate. Slowly, her tongue licked the sharp fangs that still felt rather strange in her mouth. That had taken getting used to, but she'd practiced on the chickens in her father's shed while he wasn't paying attention. It was hard for him, nowadays, with so many other things to worry about, he'd never notice a few missing birds. She casually fingered her wand within the folds of her Muggle sweatpants and scanned the quiet night outside. Unknown to even herself, she was actually using a common form of vampiric telepathy to also probe her immediate surroundings, to notify her of a threat if one arose.

Ginny sensed the Dark Magic before any of it was even used. She watched the Death Eaters pop into existence and gather out in the field silently, only thirty-or-so feet away. In her pocket her hand clenched slightly against her wand, but she made no movement. They were currently outside of the wards, so it would do her no good.

Hopefully they would be unable to breach.

Unfortunately she had no such luck. One Death Eater reached into his robes and pulled out a rather large rock covered in runes. She vaguely recognized it from one of her conversations with Bill, while Aurors had been putting up wards.

 _Some wardstones have very specific carvings. Ministry ones are said to have a unique set of rules that can be controlled by a very rare and very powerful external runestone held in a vault within the Minister's office._ He'd said, in full lecture mode.

She only watched in both slight dismay and growing excitement as their leader pressed the rock flat against the wards, and they rippled visibly through the air with a sharp _dong._ No doubt the rest of her family would have just woken up, she mused, watching the now visible bubble of the warding magic begin to hum and resonate as it collapsed under the strain. They would be too late to arrive before the Death Eaters attacked. They would have died without her, if she hadn't stood on the lawn on this night.

Yet, the young vampire did nothing to draw her wand.

The wards groaned like an earthquake and screamed like resonating glass. Ginny flinched as the harsh ringing grated on her preternaturally sensitive ears, but still made no move. As they fell, the Burrow was revealed to the Death Eaters, and so was she.

"My, my, what is this?" the lead Death Eater laughed. "The youngest Weasley, out to defend her family? Pray tell, child, what do you hope to accomplish here?"

Ginny could also play that game.

"Augustus Rookwood." she said, cleanly. She curled her lips into a half-grin as he looked startled, giving a slight jerk of the head under the hooded robes. "Yeah, I remember you. We met on quite a different battlefield, don't you remember? You followed me and tried to torture me in the Department of Mysteries, but Harry hit you in the eye with a Conjunctivitis Curse."

"It was quite painful, and well aimed." admitted Rookwood. She imagined that he was smiling sardonically under the mask. "But there is no Potter here to save you now. I'm quite sorry to say that I won't spare you even if I could."

Ginny giggled, throwing her head back, and her hair splayed in the moonlight like hellfire. The gathered Death Eaters shivered. It was high and cold, a _cackle_ eerily similar to the laugh of their master or Bellatrix, but there was only freezing certainty in her smile. Her wand was out now, twirling in her fingers like a baton, reddish-black sparks spitting in an afterimage of its path. Her face was drawn tight into a wicked grin that did not _quite_ reach her eyes, spread too wide on her pale visage to seem alive at all.

Rookwood visibly tightened his grip on his wand. The man had once been a trained Unspeakable, an incredible duelist. He would attack at any instant. Ginny still did nothing but twirl her wand silently in the air.

The Death Eater raised his wand and yelled. " _FULGUR!"_

Ginny didn't even think. She leapt aside, sliding smoothly out of the way.

An enormous, sparking purple bolt of lightning flew harmlessly past her by inches, cracking forward with the tremendous _BOOM_ of a howl of thunder.

The fanned-out semicircle of Death Eaters seemed to gawk, their bodies tensed, clearly expecting that a bolt of lightning would have killed her. It was, Ginny admitted, an excellent tactical choice. It was much faster than normal spells, so fast and powerful that it would have hit dead center and killed nearly any other average witch or wizard in the world, regardless of their shielding.

Good thing she wasn't a witch anymore.

She breathed in deeply as she straightened, smelling the sharp scent of ozone and ionized air around her as she let her anger and hate snap to the fore of her mind.

_KILL._

Her yew wand snapped into her palm and slashed a spell before the Death Eaters could say a word. Magic streamed from her core, and she smiled wickedly as huge gashes tore through the random poor man's robes. Blood gushed from numerous cuts, and there was only a screech of agony before he fell.

 _Sectumsempra_ was quite the useful spell, even if that fucking greasy bat, Snape, had invented it.

The Death Eaters looked utterly shocked for a moment before they all began firing right at her.

Her magic sang around her, and it was _invigorating._ Her curses were efficient, fast, and pinpoint accurate. Her shields were ephemeral but potent, flashing and twisting around her like flowing water, flickering back and forth. Bone white masks spread out. Some of them cast lights with their wands, to see their environment but making them easier targets. Ginny cackled at their stupidity. On the other hand she supposed it didn't matter, she could see perfectly in the dark.

As her magic swelled, she felt other members of the Order of the Phoenix begin to arrive. Spellfire flickered across the night sky, and Ginny paused for a moment behind a conjured piece of wooden cover. The Death Eaters had tried to flank and cut her off, but at the sight of the Order behind her they began to fall back and regroup. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hestia Jones fall with a scream, a _crucio_ tossed over the shoulder of a Death Eater hitting its mark. He cut the spell off a moment later and continued throwing curses, only to find his green _avada kedavra_ blocked by Arthur Weasley as he ran.

"I'm not _**done**_ with you!" The howl tore from Ginny's throat. Amidst a blur of motion, she could hear her mother scream in anguish, her father yell at her to come back. She ignored them as her legs pumped, hunter's instincts burning through undead flesh, her body tearing across the tall grass far faster than any human could ever be capable and kicking clouds of dirt into the air.

The nearest Death Eater slung a low _Incarcerous_ as he ran, clearly trying to tie up her legs. The ropes lunged forward, green vines slicing across the grasses like a scythe. Ginny smiled, her legs pumping even faster, and leapt nearly 6 feet straight into the air.

The bone-mask seemed to glow an eerie yellow for just an instant, and Ginny's nocturnal sight caught her opponent's eyes widening in horror before her spell slammed into his chest. He froze mid stride as Ginny's powerful _immobulus_ took full effect.

"You missed." She landed on the balls of her feet with a quip. His body may have been immobilized, but his mouth wasn't.

"Fuck you Weasley," he spat. Ginny smiled and bared her teeth in a sharp grin. Without looking, she put up a clean _protego_ as a purplish spell she couldn't identify hurtled towards her from behind. Even behind the mask, she could see the man's eyes fill with tears of horror and comprehension as they took in her sharp, pearly fangs.

"You wouldn't last a minute, love." she said sweetly. She grabbed his hair, exposed his neck, and _**ripped**_ sharply into his veins.

Despite popular belief, Ginny had found in books that being bitten by a vampire did not automatically mean that the person would _become_ a vampire. She had no intention of letting this man survive. Furthermore, vampire bites weren't painful, in fact, quite the opposite - unless the wound wasn't closed by the vampire themself. She smiled into the Death Eater's neck as he moaned aloud in pure ecstasy. Beautiful, sweet, _delicious_ blood poured into her mouth, and she drank greedily. Something stirred low in her stomach. Her first human feast. She was conflicted about how that made her feel.

Smoothly, she began to rub her hands in circles around his chest and abdomen as he gasped and moaned. She reached down and gave his little companion a squeeze, and smirked into his bloody throat, sticky warmth dripping down her chin. It truly was little - clearly, pureblood inbreeding hadn't done this one much good.

She wondered if her family was watching. _Whoops._ Her eyes closed slightly as she realized that she truly didn't care at the moment.

Almost reluctantly, she pulled from his throat sharply. The ecstasy in his eyes bled away, and slowly it was replaced by excruciating pain.

The man grasped for his neck instinctively and let out an animalistic, wretched scream.

All around the battlefield, both sides stopped and stared in mild horror. Ginny drew back her hand and thrust it sharply into the man's neck. With a sick _crunch,_ the scream was crushed by the broken hyoid bone that now blocked his trachea. In layman's terms, he would either asphyxiate without air or drown in his own blood. She wasn't picky.

She let go of his hair and allowed him to fall limply to the ground.

"Kill the Weasley girl!" screamed Rookwood from the other side of the battlefield. She heard several Death Eaters cry out _Avada Kedavra._ Almost on autopilot, she conjured a perfectly thin wall of obsidian in front of the green curses that aimed for her life. She scanned her head for a good spell, and grinned at a duo similar to those which Hermione had used on her brother last year. Yes, this would work.

The obsidian wall shattered with a wave of her wand, glittering volcanic glass floating around her under the light of the moon as she once again began to run.

Curses flew near her but the aim of Voldemort's lackeys was rather poor. Most spells impacted far behind: it was clear they had not expected her to be running faster than the world's fastest human.

" _Corvi! Oppugno!_ "

On command the obsidian fragments, still suspended in the air, transfigured. Dozens and dozens of ravens began to flood forward, flying alongside and in front of her, nearly obscuring her vision, a murder of crows _cawing_ their hatred and indignance as they charged. They twirled, and with a twist of her wand they flew forward like bullets, tearing at the masks and robes of the Death Eaters. Their panicked yells and howls should probably not have been nearly as satisfying as she found them.

One Death Eater near her managed to cast a full body revulsion jinx and the birds fell off him, dead. Ginny sprinted towards him, her arm flashed and smacked his wand arm away. A high powered _reducto_ flew harmlessly into the sky.

An instant later, her foot found his solar plexus, allowing her a brief moment of joy as she _felt_ his bones grinding to powder under the force of her kick. The man did not have time to gasp as he was thrown back and hit the ground several feet away, wheezing for air through collapsing lungs.

More pops rang through the night. Reinforcements had come, including Bill and Fleur, the latter of whom immediately took on a distinctive avian look, slinging fireballs in her left arm and magic in her right. She saw Remus simultaneously engaging with three Death Eaters, though his curses mostly bounced off shields as he held his own. Upon seeing more Order members, a pissed werewolf, an enraged Veela, and a bloodthirsty vampire, Rookwood made the right call.

"You're a monster Weasley!" he howled over the noise of the battle. "A monster!" Ginny rolled her eyes, and her voice was sickly sweet.

"Oh, don't be so cliché." she smiled. " What does that make you?"

Rookwood stared, and said nothing else before yelling out. "Retreat!"

Ginny grinned savagely when the Death Eaters disapparated away, wondering what their master's reaction would be to the bad news, and whether Rookwood was more on the mark than he'd realized.

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 0017 hours** _

Neville Longbottom was quite ironically practicing his duelling when the alarm wards began to go off, a caterwauling screech echoing through the mansion.

He yelled the command to stop the automatons in the duelling pit and ran upstairs to wake his grandmother. Surprisingly, she was already in the main hall when he arrived. On the other hand, maybe his surprise was misled. She had always been quite the formidable witch, after all.

"If they can get through the outer wards quickly, then the Ministry has already fallen." she said directly to Neville. "If that happens, then you must grab the brooms and escape, do you understand?"

Neville nodded and said nothing, not trusting himself to be able to lie through his teeth. He would agree to nearly any of his Gran's commands, but not that one. He wouldn't run and leave her.

Suddenly, the wailing alarm died and another one began to start. Augusta Longbottom's eyes widened with shock at the speed of the intrusion.

"Well, that answers that question." muttered Neville. He tightened his grip on his wand, and was about to say something brave, like "I'm not going anywhere," when the whole manor shook with an earth shattering _BOOM_.

"I think we have other problems." said his grandmother, a grave expression crossing her lips. "Tilly!" The family's house-elf popped in front of them, looking angry and vengeful, ears flapping as her eyes burned.

"Mistress Longbottom?"

"Defend the house." she said, shortly. The little elf nodded, and disappeared with a loud _pop._ The elder woman turned on him, looking every bit the severe and stubborn politician that her reputation spoke of. Neville steeled himself.

"Neville, now is _not_ the time to argue. Grab the brooms and go!" she barked. Neville looked at his grandmother coolly, remembering another time he'd run headfirst into battle and refused to leave his friends behind. "I will not turn tail and run without you." he said, disgustedly, wand drawn. "You come with me, Gran, or we stay here together."

Augusta looked like she was about to argue, but stalled at the fierce expression on his face. Her lips quirked into a slight smile.

"You are so much like your parents. I was a fool to have not seen it before." Neville almost blushed and said something stupid to his Gran, when the door blew open with a sharp _boom_.

Black robed figures with silver-and-bone etched masks flooded into the main hall. The two Longbottoms immediately prepared to cast their shields, but the Death Eaters didn't move. All of a sudden, the black-robed attackers parted like the Red sea.

The air was sucked from the room, as a figure slid onto the carpet like the whisper of the wind. Cold blood-red eyes regarded them with malice, with a lipless smile twisted in sadistic glee. "Your home is formidable, Dowager Longbottom." Voldemort's rich tones slid through the silent manor like the snake he was. "It seemed rude to neglect a visit."

"Oh please, you and I both know it would have been equally kind to have never showed up at all, old friend." she said coolly, drawing to her full height. Voldemort genuinely chuckled, his teeth showing for just a moment.

"Enough chit-chat," he said, spreading his arms wide in an overly dramatic gesture, Acromantula silk robes swaying loosely under his grey form. "Down to business, shall we?"

As the Dark Lord dropped his arms, Augusta Longbottom barely managed to conjure an enormous block of marble that slid out of the floor with a _shink_ noise, before more than a dozen jets of green killed them both.

Neville had thrown himself to the ground as he saw the curses, and called Tilly, but to no avail. He frowned, understanding that she would either be unconscious or dead to not respond to the command. With a quick " _Evanesco!"_ he vanished the top of the marble wall and began to fire explosive curses over the top. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his grandmother's begin to fire spells in earnest.

The Death Eaters seemed rather surprised that they were actually being fired upon. Some of them took shrapnel damage from pieces of stone as they hid behind Greek-style columns, falling down screaming. Voldemort's lips curled into a slight smile as the two sides began to exchange fire in earnest, flicking his wand with practiced ease to deflect a curse here and there. He stood there in the center of the fray, simply watching the fight laid out before him as it waxed and waned on all sides. Neville threw a _bombarda maxima_ at the Dark Lord, and the orange-white charm was batted to the side without even a shield. Voldemort flashed him a mocking grin. With a snarl, Neville grudgingly threw a cutting curse at a closer Death Eater, spraying the white marble with clean line of blood, his expression practically daring the monster, _come at me_.

The dark grin grew wider as Lord Voldemort's red eyes watched his soldiers drop.

The lackeys Voldemort had brought with him must have been very young recruits, it appeared, with literally no common sense. None even thought about blasting down the marble, or vanishing it. Voldemort, clearly tired of their stupidity, raised his wand and almost lazily waved his hand.

" _Excindo_ "

The two defenders managed to put up overlapping shields as the marble exploded around them, the wall ground to stone and swirling white dust. The first shield broke cleanly, while the second bent and warped under the stress.

A green jet of light flew through the dust and shattered the remaining shield charm like glass. For a moment, there was only the dust of the explosion, and silence.

"Neville, what was I telling you earlier?" said Augusta, slowly raising her wand again. Neville shook his head.

"I…"

He didn't have a chance to say anything.

An enormous gusty wind tore through the dust and slammed directly into his grandmother. He could only cry out as she slammed into the back wall of the room, and slid heavily to the floor.

"Are you resigned to your fate?" asked the Lord Voldemort, his magic humming around him in a sickening aura as he stepped through the dust. The remnants of the cloud writhed around him, giving him an incredibly eerie look. He looked almost sadly at Neville and his grandmother, crimson eyes glittering.

"You have known this was coming, Augusta, for so many years." The lipless mouth curled, and Neville's heart pounded in fear as he stared at the face that had given him nightmares two years ago. "And you, Heir Longbottom, I regret now allowing the Lestrange family enough free rein to have wounded you and your family so. Truly, you are a flourishing young wizard of our time, a gem of your generation."

Neville said nothing in response but raised his wand. Augusta let out a rattled sigh from the floor, and looked to the last of her family.

"Neville?" she said, quietly. Slowly, he turned his head towards her, and quirked an eyebrow in a mock questioning look, hoping the love was more than visible in his eyes, trying and failing to keep the worry out of them.

"Yeah, Gran?"

" _From ashes, a phoenix is reborn._ " she said. Neville frowned in confusion before his eyes widened.

He could only scream in abject despair as the sharp tug of a portkey pulled from behind his navel, and he disappeared.

* * *

_**July 13th, 1997, 2332 hours** _

Luna Lovegood was uncomfortably comfortable with Death.

The two of them had met before, when she was only a young girl. Young, that is, relative to the timeless Wrackspurts that floated aimlessly in and out of people's minds, young compared to the age she was now. Young compared to how old she will feel, when the world will burn in an era of fire and brimstone and blood and pain. She remembered still the hooded figure who had solemnly stepped over her mother's bloody and burnt corpse, for a faceless face to look her straight in the eyes.

They had not spoken much, because it was obvious Death had no words for her. She had been so sad, horribly sad, that her mother could no longer smile with her, join in group hugs with her father, nor create the magical spells she did for the Department of Mysteries. She would never even see a Crumple Horned Snorkack with them both.

She had politely told Death. "I hope to only see you two more times, and I mean that in the nicest way."

Now, here she stood, in front of her own home, bathed in green light as the eerie skull of the Dark Mark hung over the ruined home like a Heliopath. Luna knew that her father was dead. A single tear escaped her eye, but her expression was frozen as she walked through the torn door.

The body of her father was mangled, broken, and bloody, but she ignored it in favor of the hooded figure that solemnly stood vigil over the body.

The world seemed to freeze. She checked the clock. 11:32:10PM. The second hand didn't move.

"Well, here we are again." Luna whispered. "Will you now take me too?"

In a slow, but unhesitant movement, the cloaked figure shook her head.

"A pity." Luna sniffed. "I'd have liked to see the Crumple-horned Snorkacks with him." She paused for a moment. "Is he with my mother?"

A nod, a small gesture, enough to make Luna send Death a beaming, but watery smile.

"I suppose, I'll just be going then." Luna whispered. "I hope I will not see you so soon. Until we meet again."

" _Death."_ It was a whisper, almost questioning, but firm in its conviction at the same time. Luna cocked her head, eyes wide in the darkness, staring at the thing before her. There was clarity in them for once, as she stared intently at the vision of insanity that she Saw.

" _Plague."_

" _Famine."_

" _War."_

" _They come, girl...they_ _ **ride.**_ " The raspy, ethereal voice of Death, that spoke words out loud and yet didn't speak at all, was insistent. " _Through the Dreaming..._ _ **you found our children.**_ "

Luna was frozen, her dreamy mind suddenly focused, Seeing what had been hidden from the all-Seeing gaze her whole life. The future was no less clouded, but something seemed to fall into place.

" _...Only a hallowed three of twelve..."_

Silence. Luna stood, unblinking, unbelieving, as reality crumbled and rebuilt itself around her, all at the same time. She would not, could not _dare_ to imagine the possibilities…

"... _Best not suck your thumb, childe...for something wicked this way comes…."_

One moment Death was there. Omnipresent, omnipotent; immovable, inevitable. The next, She had vanished.

Luna checked the partially broken clock by the mantle, which now ticked twice. 11:32:12PM, it read. No time had passed since she entered the house.

She disappeared with a sharp _crack_ as the alarm ward triggered properly, alerting the Death Eaters that she had just arrived.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter's new spells in order of appearance chapter are as follows:
> 
> Fulgur(a) - Lightning Conjuration. Creates a bolt of lightning, or in plural form, multiple simultaneous bolts numbering up to 3. Highly skilled casters may be able to alter the trajectory of the lightning as it leaves the wand. Very dangerous, potentially fatal.
> 
> Corvus (pl. Corvi) - Raven Conjuration. Similar spell to Serpensortia or Avis, as it may conjure a false-living piece of magic that behaves like a raven, or may summon an actual raven from somewhere else, depending on the caster's intent.
> 
> Excindo - Disintegration Hex. Creates an explosion according to the visualization of the caster, resulting in the target area being ground into fine particulates. Tremendously difficult to cast accurately, requires intense control to wield with precision.
> 
> .
> 
> .


	2. Birth of a Family, Pt II

**CH 2 - Birth of a Family, Part II**

_**July 14th, 1997, 2004 hours** _

Harry didn't hesitate for even half a moment. The instant he appeared in the center of Hogsmeade he ran towards the nearest alleyway with his head down, dragging his trunk behind him.

Thankfully, this time in the evening was not too busy. Most people had already walked home or to the Three Broomsticks, where they would shortly be grabbing their supper or a couple pints of butterbeer. In the low light cast by the setting sun, Harry watched from the alleyway for several minutes, long shadows sliding back and forth across the cobblestone. He waited, and waited, and waited, his breath held carefully as he stared, hoping that he would not see any pale masks nor the crimson robes of the Aurors tracing his movements. To his shaken relief, there were none.

He pulled his wand from his pocket, and momentarily relished the warmth of the holly wood under his fingers before tapping the top of his trunk. It popped open with a creak, and he rummaged around for a moment before pulling out his invisibility cloak. Tapping the trunk again, it shrank until it was tiny, barely the length of his finger. With a quick feather-light charm, he grabbed it and quickly shoved it in his tattered black jeans. A silvery flourish later and Harry Potter vanished completely.

His eyes carefully tracked the movements of various witches and wizards, ensuring that he would not bump into a random pedestrian on the street. He wandered aimlessly for a while, before finally stopping in front of a familiar, quaint shop. Honeydukes Sweets.

Harry stood at the front staring through the windows at various candy, waiting for a visitor to come in and open the door. A door being opened by itself was a clear cue that there was someone invisible stalking around Hogsmeade. If he just walked in, there was a good chance someone would call the Aurors. He had to wait.

At 8 in the evening, there were few visitors to Honeydukes. So Harry waited in front of the door, carefully watching the street for the next customer. For a moment's rest he closed his eyes.

All he could see was red.

_Petunia's blood, red and congealing black, sprayed across the kitchen with reckless abandon, dripping from the cutting board, pooling in dull puddles across the freshly waxed wooden floor. Cloudy eyes stared at him wide, seeing both true fear and nothing at all. The glistening red of exposed meat, long and thin like a worm of flesh..._

Had he not been so focused and pumped full of adrenaline, he would probably have collapsed and vomited up what little bile remained in his stomach all over again, right there on the street. He had to move onwards. He had to find a place to hide - to survive.

... _for neither can live while the other survives…_

Harry was jolted from his thoughts as a wispy-looking witch opened the door to Honeydukes. Carefully, making sure not to bump her or the door, he slipped inside and moved toward the back of the shop. He passed the glass cases of hundreds of chocolates, not giving the customers a second glance. The cellar was the same as it always was, filled with boxes and crates. He pulled out his wand and muttered " _Dissendum,"_ tapping the wooden floor beneath him. The trap door swung open, and he dropped into the secret passage below. He carefully closed the door above him, making sure to make as little noise as possible before lighting his wand and moving forward.

The sharp _clack, clack, clack,_ of his shoes against the impeccably polished stone floors of Hogwarts not 15 minutes later was too sharp a contrast to the absolute quiet of the castle. There were no classes being held, no ghosts visibly floating through the hallways, no students skiving off class, no snogging in the alcoves. There seemed to be only himself, and the stillness of the halls.

_The world as you know it, is...gone,_ he thought.

It seemed prudent to preserve the silence, in case he was not truly alone. Tapping his wand against each foot, he muttered " _silencio,"_ twice.

Rubber soles continued onward without making so much as a squeak. The castle was eerie in the absence of the clamoring throng that would normally be present in its halls. Harry had a clear destination in his mind as he trudged forward, a perfect one. One that could be completely hidden from the rest of the castle at whim. The Room of Requirement.

It wasn't until he heard sounds- _voices_ -that he froze and changed directions, moving towards the Entrance Hall of the castle.

"...just wanted to get any other information from you before we leave." the voice was saying. It wasn't really a familiar tone, but it oozed confidence and drawl, not quite unlike the typical pureblood snottiness of the Malfoys. "It is quite likely that it won't help in the attempt to actually find the damn house, but who knows, eh?"

Harry was just around the corner when he heard an exasperated sigh, and a cold tone that conveyed the sneer that undoubtedly graced the man's lips. "Yaxley, you idiot, you know the address won't help you. Face the facts: someone, likely a member of the Order, managed to cast a Fidelius Charm or another ward around the house and that's why you can't find it or even its protections. You'll have to join one of the other attacks, and will be woefully unable to find your target. The Dark Lord will not be pleased with you."

The invisible Harry froze in his tracks, not believing his ears. Every ounce of restraint flew out the window. Something inside him _cracked_ in rage as his knuckles clenched and his hands trembled underneath the cloak. He found himself digging his nails into his palm as hard as he could, to stop the impulse of drawing his wand.

"Shut up, Snape, you pessimistic bat." grumbled the other man, Yaxley, from around the corner. Harry trembled as he carefully stepped forward, his invisible head peeking from behind the columns.

They were walking away from him, away from the dungeons. Yaxley, with a long, platinum-blonde braid running clean down the center of his back. Snape, his pallid figure and dark hair hanging limp from his head.

_He fucking murdered Dumbledore...and now he walks these halls like he owns them!_

"It'll be worth it anyway, if somehow it's not Fidelius, and we can crack it. Can you imagine? The mudblood Granger!" Harry's blood ran cold while Yaxley laughed. "She's young...I'll keep her alive I think. I'm sure the others would agree to some fun."

Harry's wand shook in his trembling hand, sparks threatening to explode from the tip.

"Maybe once I've had a turn, I can give her to Greyback. He loves breaking them."

_**NO** _

Harry threw the cloak off himself and his magic _tore_ free of his wand. He could hear a howl, a yell, coming from _somewhere_...

...There was a crack like a gunshot, and a careening jet of light, flying, flying…

Yaxley stared at the Bludger-sized hole in his chest with uncomprehending eyes. Dumbledore's murderer, the traitor within the Order of the Phoenix, turned around as the other Death Eater fell to the floor with a soft thump. The clammy, pallid visage of Severus Snape turned whiter than a ghost, and with shaking hands he raised his wand.

"Potter." There was no vehemence, no anger. He spoke quietly, confused and resigned. Harry's gaze burned into the man he had once grudgingly called professor. He felt his throat constrict, choking on the rage, the pain, the _intent_ that he shoved down into his core, fuelling his sparking magic.

"You've killed Yaxley, Potter." Snape said, his voice still quiet. He was cagey, but appeared serene, as if attempting to calm a wild, wounded, cornered XXXXX-class beast. "Don't do this. You don't want to do this, not any more than I do."

"What's wrong _Snivellus_? Have you satisfied your thirst for blood?" Harry snarled out, gnashing his teeth. He could feel his heart thumping, his magic thrumming in tune, his wrath _pulsing_ forward, the pounding waves of a black poisonous slimy ocean that would never let him free. He never let his former professor answer.

"Because I **HAVEN'T**!" he roared, his voice cracking under the strain. "I'll kill you here, Snape, if it's the last thing I do. A life taken for the life you took. The most _unfair_ trade there ever was!"

"You will not, Potter" hissed Snape, pulling his own wand slowly from his robes as he stepped back, slowly. "You _cannot!_ "

"Why not?" Harry taunted, his lips pulled back in a savage, uncontrolled mockery of a grin. "Think I don't have it in me? That I don't have it in me to kill you? After all the tips I got from dear Bellatrix! From your pretty little prince book?"

Snape's face seemed to be growing paler and paler every second, but his eyes were growing increasingly determined. "Listen...Potter...your father…"

Harry cut him off, not caring to hear another tirade about his strutting, arrogant father, not listening to the words coming from the other wizard at all. "You know what Auntie Bella said? In order to use Dark Magics, to _smear_ a wizard across the ground on which he stands…"

"Harry…" The plea doesn't reach his ears.

" _You have to_ _ **mean**_ _it._ " he hissed.

He struck like a viper. The wand flashed, the movement it traced was so quick that Snape barely acted on years of honed instincts and flicked up a shield just as the first curse reached him. Harry didn't miss a beat.

He followed up, hard. His movements were wild, chaotic, lacking grace or practice but instead borne of snarling malice and hot anger. A quick _reducto,_ followed by a _defodio._ _Expulso, SECTUMSEMPRA._ A quick twirl, and a flick, then a simple cutting spell. _Cut slash jab twist, KILL HIM._ _ **KILL HIM.**_

_**RED**_. All Harry saw was blood. _Blood streaming down a face, when Neville broke his nose in the Department of Mysteries, flailing like a demon as he screamed under the pain that crushed his parents. Blood on the tiled bathroom floor, as Malfoy lay pale and unmoving, sobbing in his own helplessness as a puddle formed around him. Blood soaking through clothes as Arthur Weasley lay unmoving on the black-tiled floors, poisoned and forsaken. Blood on the kitchen counter, splattered ironically over Petunia's cutting board. Blood from Dumbledore's hand, dripping onto the stones of that cave._

_Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken..._

"I want your _**BLOOD**_ , Snape!" Harry's hoarse howl turned into a scream, his voice tearing under the force of its own pain. "Don't you want mine? Fight back, you fucking coward. FIGHT!"

Snape's face twisted in unholy anger. Between shields, his wand twisted, and he fired a sickly looking black curse that looked anything but friendly. Harry, however, bared his teeth in a wicked smile as he twisted aside, feeling the magic skim his shirt in a chaotic burst of heat, singeing his thin cotton.

"I-am-not-a- _ **COWARD**_ " Snape roared, the same anguished hate falling over his eyes that had come between them on that night months ago, when Dumbledore's limp form fell from the Astronomy Tower. Black eyes danced with fire, the characteristic sneer long gone from the man's lips. Harry's only response was a _Sectumsempra_ that nicked the edge of the older man's robes. Snape retaliated, sharply stabbing his wand forward. Harry's instincts acted by themselves, barely conjuring a shield of water as a massive plume of flame bore down upon him.

He could feel the heat pressing down on him as the fire crushed into him further and further. He struggled harder, harder, to keep the water flowing from his wand.

An insane giggle filled his ears. _You have to mean it, Potter!_

He pushed back just hard enough and hissed. The rage, the pain, the hatred, the fear and suffering...it all flowed together as one.

" _Avada Kedavra_ "

The green jet disappeared among the flames and they died instantly. Harry coughed for a second, his eyes watering, before looking up. Snape stood, looking towards Harry in mild horror, a perfectly circular burn murk in the Headmaster's chair behind him, mere inches from his face. Harry surged up like a tsunami.

" _CRUCIO_ "

A giant circular shield gong appeared out of nowhere, and the spell impacted it with a single, resounding note. _DONG._ Harry had barely enough time to register what had just happened when a fog covered his mind. _Pure bliss._

_Stop fighting._ The voice whispered in his head. Harry frowned, then his lips twisted in a snarl.

_NO._

_Just relax. I need to tell you the truth! Stop figh-_

_**NO!** _

Harry jerked out of the _Imperius_ curse only to see Snape's billowing robe already turning the corner, sprinting at full tilt.

With an incoherent scream Harry gave chase.

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 1957 hours** _

Luna Lovegood did not stare idly off into the sky, like she usually did. Her head remained bowed, even when she had meandered through the bustling streets of muggle London and the edges of Diagon Alley. She had spent the whole day wandering through the city and the Alley, picking up bits of information, stealing to get some food, and just sitting, with her hood over her head as she watched crowds pass. The night hustle of the city blended around her quietly, without so much as a second glance at the blonde girl who wanted to keep to herself, an empty McDonald's bag on the bench beside her.

The silent, simple tears that dripped from her eyes were enough of an indication of her situation at the moment.

_Poor, poor, father._ The swirling magic around her agreed, the Wrackspurts flying towards her ears, the Nargles tearing at her thoughts. She let them come. The anger slowly built itself in her chest, a hot monster that wanted to take control and rain furious ruin upon those who had _dared_ touch her daddy.

And yet…

What could she truly do? Kill one or two dozen Death Eaters? Would she even manage to do that? A fugitive in a Wizarding World that hated the Light, indoctrinated to hate Muggles and the muggleborns? What was the point? She wouldn't make a dent in the corrupt system that allowed Lord Voldemort to rise unfettered, that laid below his feet now like the cogs of a monstrous machine. A world where she would be crucified if she openly walked the streets. How could she take the war to them all alone?

Yes, she had seen the newspapers. The Ministry had truly fallen, and while The Dark Lord had not taken control of the Rotfang conspiracy himself, Luna was sure that his appointee Pius Thicknesse would be more than happy to do it. They would be whispering in his ear, alongside the Death Eaters and the conservative movement. Harry had already been declared the most wanted man in the magical UK. She wouldn't be surprised if the remainder of their so-called 'Ministry Six' as well as the Order were also thrown onto an official list for capture to Azkaban, and sooner rather than later.

No, she needed to hide. Someone would find her. Harry? _Yes._ She could feel it whisper through her mind. _Harry. He's learning. Words that will shape and shake him._ Luna closed her eyes. How did she know? She felt something, deep under her chest, a tightness that slowly began to unravel.

She Saw it then, floating idly next to the Wrackspurts and Hermione screaming at her parents and Ginny and Ron hugging and sobbing and Neville touching a wooden case in the dirt and Harry collapsing into an overly stuffed armchair with Snape standing above him.

_Ride fast. Ride fierce. Ride bold._

They would come.

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 2129 hours** _

Hermione Granger was fucking _pissed_.

"Hermione, listen to me…"

"When were you going to tell me?" she asked, her voice betraying little of the pain she held inside her heart. "When…" She choked, anger pulsing through her veins like beautiful poison.

There was an awkward silence through the room as no one knew what to say.

"We only wanted to keep you safe." whispered her mother. Hermione's mind instantly whirred, but stopped on a strange conclusion.

"From what?" she whispered. "Wizards? No, no, no, what is this? What are you not telling me?"

"Hermione, just listen to your mother for one second." Her father, the man who was supposed to have been Doctor Richard Granger spoke. "Please, just…"

"NO!" she barked, her anger coming to a head. "I've just found out that everything I once was, a...sodding _mudblood_ , a witch, a _human being_ was all entirely and utterly wrong!" She slammed her hand against the table, not caring at the pain that lanced up her wrist nor the cracks that appeared in the wood under her fist. "FUCK!" she screamed. Her parents' eyes widened as her magic lashed out visibly and a nearby vase flew and smashed against a wall with a heavy _crash._ The tables rattled in her pain, vibrating under her fingers. Hermione panted, tears gathering in her eyes and shaky breaths burning at her throat. Her composure began to dissolve.

Her mother caught her as she fell drawing her only daughter close. "Oh, my baby…" Hermione felt herself relishing the warmth despite everything.

"What do you know about High Elves." started her father, quietly, collapsing into his chair. Hermione being ever the scholar, choked out an answer.

"They - we?" she paused. "They're a race of incredibly ancient magical sentients that have more natural flow of magic than humans. Capable of working immense magics of intricate depth. Practically immortal, due to a life-span of hundreds, if not thousands of years."

"That - is part of it." he said, sounding somewhat surprised but certainly not shocked that his daughter had obtained that rare piece of knowledge. Few humans were even aware the elves still existed, but this was _the_ Hermione Granger after all. "Among other problems. You see, as a side-effect of our age...suffice to say that elves rarely have children. There may be one in a city every one hundred years. Because of this, some have branched out, fallen in love with humans. They wish for children of their own, not caring of prejudice and instead removing the uncertainty of never having a son or daughter. I fell in love with your mother years ago, and took her with me to live amongst my kind." Hermione stayed silent through this, wondering. How old was she? What had happened?

"In the human year 1980, every Elven Seer on or related to the High Council received the exact same prophecy at the same moment. The contents of it are highly debated, and not made public. No one even knows what happened, nor who heard it, since the Seers agreed collectively to purge the event from their minds. But there were rumors that they had already known the prophecy because it had been given thousands of years before. The recitation meant it was triggered, and active. There are rumors that suggest it related to a collective of four members of major humanoid races...including the birth of the next elven half-blood child born to a human..and…" Here her father trailed off.

In mild horror, she watched her father fix himself as he regained composure. "...And destruction on an inter-dimensional scale." He finished, saying the words delicately, as if baiting a mouse trap.

Hermione could not help the look of shocked horror that crossed her face, nor the small choke that escaped her lips. Was this a joke? Fred and George had certainly convinced her of stupid things before. _Madness!_

"I was once high up in many important political circles." He said, continuing softly. "I heard of the prophecy rumors...and I panicked completely. Because as of the month before, my human wife had told me that she had become pregnant. The first child in our city in nearly 50 years." She waited with bated breath to hear the truth of her life's story.

"We had just gotten the most precious gift in the world." He spoke, tears gathering in his eyes as he regarded his daughter. "The gift of life. The chance to give birth to a beautiful little girl that would one day grow to be a woman of strength, integrity, and compassion, that would change our people forever."

Hermione pulled her mother closer, relishing in her warmth.

"We did the only thing we could possibly think of to keep you safe." His mother spoke out, her whispered tones carrying to the rest of the room. "We had to...leave your father's people. Forever. We were hunted by the community once called family. Your father used forbidden magic to tear a hole and enter this planet. He chose to risk being killed by his own brethren escaping from his people to provide a chance to save our daughter."

Hermione stared, the implications tearing at her mind. "Am...I the target of the prophecy?" she whispered.

Her father only stood forlornly, looking distantly at the floor. "There are several intended targets, four if I remember correctly. There is no doubt...you might be one of them."

Hermione felt as if Grawp the giant had just punched her in the stomach. _I am going to cause the apocalypse?_

"No sweetie, no." Her mother said firmly, yet lovingly, stroking her daughter's face. "I know you, who you are. Nothing could make you hurt others like that without cause. I trust in you, Hermione. My angel," she spoke thickly, pulling Hermione tighter.

At the bewildered look of ' _how did you read my thoughts?,'_ her mother grinned.

"You spoke out loud."

Hermione giggled slightly, moistly, the tears on her face still drying. Her mother raised an eyebrow as her father suddenly started chuckling along as well. Bemused, but understanding the silliness, her mother began to relax.

"We've had so much time with you, pretending that nothing was wrong for all these years." her father said, kneeling to hug the two of them close. Hermione warmed at his musical, throaty tone. The academic in her noted that it was laced with magic, almost like the vocal cords of a phoenix. "Now...has the time come? Here we are, and you know the truth. But we don't know anything." His voice choked off, and her Mum grimaced. "The human magical world is crumbling. The Ministry fell last night, based on the nonsense in the newspaper. You've grown up, now. After the day you began your magical maturity, we knew we couldn't protect you from the truth any longer. My beautiful girl...now ready to be a soldier." The tone hardened, both proud and bitter. Hermione sobbed, grasping her parents tight.

For just a short moment, everything seemed to be alright.

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 0115 hours** _

Neville Longbottom roared out his pain, his throat hoarse, his fists swollen from beating on the charmed-unbreakable glass, tears long dried on his face.

Far below him, he could only watch as tiny figures in black robes stood before the burning manor, their glee apparent as flaming apparitions of animals and monsters from myth ferociously tore that which had once been the Longbottom manor for centuries. How could he have been so stupid, to not expect the Portkey? How could he have failed so horribly, to let his only undamaged family, his grandmother, die while she protected him?

The last Longbottom sank to his knees, clutching his wand in a tight, unforgiving grasp.

_If only I was stronger I could have delayed them enough to protect her._ He thinks about that thought for a moment. In his head he knows that it can't be true. What good was he, a boy who had once practically been a squib, against the full might of the Dark Lord? What was he, when even his strong, proud Grandmother had fallen?

_Where am I?_

Looking at his surroundings was the first clue. He had teleported to just inside a window that he could not break, only to see the manor burning on the land below and in front of him. He knew that she must have been in that fire, that she could not have survived.

Now as he calmed down slightly, trying not to panic, he looked around the room. It looked almost like a minuscule greenhouse, except there were many violently overgrown plants inside. Upon second glance, they all appeared to be medicinal herbs and flowers with a massive variety of uses. Neville frowned though, even as he continued to wipe tears from his eyes. How were they so poorly maintained, but still somehow wildly blooming, even overgrown? He bent down and peered at the fuzzy, soft leaves of magical dittany.

A hysterical laugh escaped him as he fell to his knees. The plants had been his solace when he worked at them first, burning away the pain of his mother's and father's absence throughout his clumsy, foolish childhood. Here he knelt, in a tiny little garden, finding solace in the plants as he now was truly, truly alone.

It was only when his hand brushed a hard wooden surface that he looked up and saw the little trunk. There was a letter on top, his grandmother's handwriting. With a wobbly sob, Neville wiped his nose on his sleeve and slit the envelope open with a drag of his wand.

.

_My Dearest Neville,_

_There is only one reason for you to be receiving this letter, and that is that I am no longer with you. I promised myself that if I lived until after the Dark Lord was defeated, I'd write a happier letter to the light of my life. As it is, though, I believe that this fight is a burden that you will have to shoulder, and I do not envy you for the strength you will need in the days and years to come._

_Do I need to give you advice anymore, Neville? Is there anything left for me to say? As I watched you grow, I know that there is nothing I can give to prepare you for the world to come. You've already done it yourself. Forgive me, grandson, Heir Apparent, for my cruelty when you were but a child. I was not ready for the challenge of raising you. I was not ready to wake up every morning and care for a beautiful little boy that was so much like my Frank, while he and his wife wasted, far away from their rightful place by your side. I was too torn in my grief, too foolish and selfish in my yearnings, to be the person I needed to be for you._

_Then my boy was brave, braver than Frank had ever been in all his years at Hogwarts_ _and_ _as a grown fighter and Auror; so much more of a soldier, even as a fifteen year old boy who fumbled and battled his way through the Department of Mysteries to keep his friends alive. I cried so hard that night, I sobbed for the boy I had failed and for the man I knew you had become._

_If I died for you, Neville, know that I died the proudest grandmother that has ever been, even though I fear for you still. I'm sure by now that you know of the prophecy, the one the Daily Prophet continues to spout speculation about, that Harry Potter is the Chosen One. What no one ever told you is that the prophecy could have referred to two individuals, born at the end of July to parents who had resisted the Dark Lord on three occasions. The only two individuals that fit the criteria were the Heir Potter and yourself._

_It was a fickle thread of fate that You-Know-Who killed Harry Potter's parents and the Lestranges came for yours. Random happenstance could have forced you to become the Chosen One, prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord. Fate is fickle, luck is fleeting, and death is certain. Your father said that more than once, when I cried to him about serving in the HitWizard Corps with his wife at his side. If I have one thing to say now, it is to remember his words and to forge your own path in the war to come. Do not go gently. Do not serve as a sycophant. It does no good to wallow in our fears and forget to live, even when we are forced to live simply to spite the idea of losing hope, of losing the thirst for vengeance, and of failing the call to justice._

_I love you, through this world and the next._

_~Dowager Augusta Longbottom,_

_Your loving grandmother._

_P.S: Hidden in the trunk is a weapon that has been vaulted by the Longbottom family for eons. According to journals our family members have written, it is prophesied to one day be wielded at full power by one of us in a time of war. However, various ancestors have rarely been compatible enough to use the artifact to even a miniscule fraction of its potential. Your grandfather used it occasionally while fighting against Grindelwald decades ago. I urge you to be careful with it, but I think it may save lives in the fight to come. It, the trunk, and your House ring, and any herbs in this place are yours for your journey. May Magic bless your soul, Neville Francis._

_._

Neville sobbed but wiped his tears, having quenched them long before reading the letter anyway. Only determination and retribution (for he refused to call it hate) burned through him now, and there was no time for tears. He looked down. The trunk before him didn't even appear to have a latch, it was just a smooth wooden trunk buried in the dirt. The Longbottom Crest sat on top, sculpted in ornate paint and studded with jewels. Grasping one of the handles on the side he raised it up and pulled it out - it didn't seem particularly heavy, so he idly wondered what sort of weapon it was. Though, he supposed, feather-light charms would belay that problem.

_Wait a bloody second, how am I supposed to open this thing without a lid?_

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 0343 hours** _

For the first time in his life, Ronald Weasley was genuinely afraid of his only sister.

Sure, he'd been suitably threatened by her before. That bloody Bat-bogey hex of hers was disgusting and somehow ridiculously powerful in her quick hands. He clearly remembered her furious face threatening Fred and George on multiple occasions at Grimmauld Place, after they'd messed with the belongings in her trunk. Often he himself had started backing away, his hands raised placatingly when her wand turned upon him. But that was nothing, _nothing at all_ like this.

The Burrow was far too quiet for his liking. Having Fred and George out of the house meant there weren't as many wise-cracks after a battle. Not that this was the right moment anyway. His dad looked dazed as he collapsed in his favorite armchair, staring out the window like he wasn't seeing anything. His mum had run off into the kitchen muttering something under her breath, her hands shaking and wringing her wand between them. Bill stood outside, recasting several wards and placing some goblin runes that were almost certainly not legal nor within Ministry jurisdiction, forcibly occupying himself rather than trying to think. Fleur seemed awkward in the house, not quite sure where to be looking or what to say, instead gazing rather forlornly at her sister-in-law-to-be, occasionally glancing out to see Bill waving his wand rhythmically under the moonlit sky.

And there was his sister, sitting at the dinner table, hands folded in her lap, her eyes practically burning a hole in the table. Dried blood crusted on her chin and her nightshirt, but she didn't seem to notice. Ron felt a little shiver run up his back at the morose, yet macabre sight. She looked worn and sad. It was a stark contrast to the ferocious beast of a fighter he'd seen for several minutes outside, blasting through Death Eaters with intoxicatingly heavy magic, tearing them to shreds with her teeth and her fists with a sick grin on her face.

_She's afraid of us,_ he realized with a startled jolt, _of what we would say, of what we would think._ How long had she been hiding this? How long had she been afraid and all by herself, unwilling to talk, just suppressing it all and wishing something so cruel hadn't been ripped from her? How long had she hidden away in her room, away from the company of her family and shying from their touch?

Ron wanted to slap himself silly and bang his head on the walls like Dobby the house-elf. He should have seen it from the beginning. _Hermione would've - she figured Lupin out in a month,_ he thinks idly. No wonder Ginny didn't like to come outside when the sun was shining, staying in the shade and returning to her room after only an hour at most. He had figured her isolation was moping from her break with Harry - but the truth was far more painful. He hadn't cared for his sister enough to see that she was truly suffering, all alone even amongst a brood of family.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it. _What am I supposed to say?_ Hermione was the clever one. She was the one who was always right, even with her so-called "bossiness" she always knew how to say the right words, just the way she meant them. Harry would know, too. He had this way of making you fidget when you lied, his piercing green eyes just looking at you under a cocked eyebrow. He'd always been their leader and a teacher (hadn't the DA proved just that?) and the steel behind their spine. When the friends around the boy-who-lived floundered, he would fight to the ends of the earth to help them. It was no legend, no fairy tale, but the story of a man who bore more weight on his shoulders than even he knew. But Ron couldn't rely on them like that, for their words weren't his. Ginny was his little sister, _his_ responsibility, and all he could think was _what am I supposed to say?_

His mum wandered back in levitating a tray of six steaming mugs of hot cocoa. _She's too shaky to carry them._ Ron remembered when she'd screamed at Fred and George for doing the same last year. _Mum's in shock, going through the motions._ He looked to his father, who hadn't moved, simply burying his face into his right hand as if he didn't want to wake up from a bad dream. _I've got to do something, they aren't saying shit,_ he thinks, mind working furiously. Then...

_Marshmallows._

This was still the same girl who'd cried when Ron had gone to Hogwarts a year before her, and left her all alone with their parents. She was still the little girl who had clung to Harry sobbing for her life, and who'd run babbling into his arms with slime and grime and gore splattered over her robes all those years ago in the Chamber of Secrets. She was still the girl who woke with nightmares the summer after that, who'd always hugged him and snuck downstairs with him for a midnight cup of hot cocoa and dumped a motherlode of marshmallows in her mug.

As his Mum set the tray down on the table, he summoned a bag from the kitchens with a quiet " _Accio marshmallows,_ " deftly catching the bag and tearing it open. It was a testament to his mother's utter confusion and panic that she hadn't so much as glared at him for using magic in the house. She was too busy staring at Ginny, tears in her eyes, hands covering her mouth, unsure of what to do. Ron didn't care - _I need to do this,_ he thought, pouring a few of the little sugary pillows into one of the steaming mugs. He picked it up and gently placed it before her, sliding it across the old and faded wood tabletop.

She looked up at the slight _scrape_ against the wood, and he felt more than recognized his own sharp intake of breath. Her eyes were different now in the dim light of the kitchen, the chocolate brown had shifted to an almost molten gold color that seemed to drip as they looked at him, and she gave him a weak close-lipped smile as her first tear fell. He said nothing as she forlornly wrapped the cup in one hand, taking a gentle sip and popping a marshmallow into her mouth. She said nothing for a moment before grabbing the bag again and pouring a few more of them in. An absurd image popped into his mind, and Ron blurted out the words before he could think.

"Blimey, Gin, at the rate you're going I reckon' you'll be adding marshmallows to cups of blood!" He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in mild horror. _I did NOT just say that. Oh Merlin's pants._

He heard a low, wailing, mortified moan from his mother. Fleur seemed to choke from the overstuffed sofa.

Ginny's head snapped to him so fast he almost missed the movement, her eyes wide like she was about to get smacked in the face by a rogue bludger. She stared at him as he dropped his hands, letting out a snort as he did so. She giggled, staring still, her eyes wide and unblinking and then she _laughed._

He pulled her to his chest and hugged her tighter than he could remember, the two of them still laughing as he did. He could feel the giggles turn to sobs after a few seconds, the tears melting into his faded orange Chudley Cannons shirt. He wouldn't let her go. _Never._ Ron chanced a look at his mother, who was standing there with tears in her eyes, crying silently with hands over her mouth as she watched them, and his father standing behind her, pulling her towards him and embracing her shoulders. He gazed at them silently, sadly.

_This is my sister,_ he wanted his eyes to say as he stared his parents down. _This is our Ginny. This is your daughter, the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter before her. This is our redhead spitfire, our little Gryffindor seeker, our youngest of the Ministry Six. She's our family no matter what, so mote it be and all that shite. Forever._

And when Molly burst into incoherent sobs of pride, and Arthur gave them a solemn but assured nod as he reached out for them, he _knew_ their hearts would be beside his and his little sister's until the end of their days.

* * *

_**July 14th, 1997, 2031 hours** _

Harry Potter was running.

Each step fueled his anger. His magic sparked and twisted around him, his pain pooling into flying sparks and congealing an aura of violence.

He skidded to a stop and automatically turned to the hall toward the Headmaster's Office. His rage increased as he saw the tail of a cloak swirl around the gargoyle, heading up the winding stairs. _That imbecile! That murderer! He had the audacity to go to his room…_ He screamed an incoherent " _MOVE!_ " at the gargoyle, and to his surprise it leapt aside after a few seconds.

He sprinted, legs burning in pain, as he jumped up, up, up the steps two at a time...

...and Harry erupted with a bellow into the room.

" _ **WHERE**_ are you?" He screamed.

"Harry Potter, cease this behavior at once!"

That stopped him in his tracks. The blood drained from his head, he felt every ounce of rage and pain and anger leave him in one fell swoop that left him breathless and afraid.

"Pro-Professor?" The stuttered words left his lips as he looked around the room wildly.

"Up here, my dear boy."

He looked up into the half-moon spectacles, long white beard, and twinkling blue eyes filled with tears. Genuine, emotional tears, welling up and falling from his lids as oil paint across a canvas. For there on the wall sat the magical portrait of Albus Dumbledore, gazing down at him with a weak smile upon his face.

"You will not judge Professor Snape, Harry. He did what he had to do."

Harry stared, his rage rushing back in a flash-flood, not caring that he was yelling at a painting, only seeing the man before him. "Are you bloody kidding me? He literally killed you! I watched him murder you with my…"

" _Enough!_ " The masterful response was still enough to silence him instantly, even from a portrait. After a moment's hesitation, he sighed. "Harry, this will be difficult, but you must listen to me carefully."

Harry nodded slowly, not stowing his wand.

"I was already dying." said the painting matter-of-factly, as if announcing the weather.

The shock didn't make its way to Harry's face for nearly a full second. "What?" he whispered, aghast. The old wizard nodded.

"My hand, I'm sure you remember. A nasty curse, invented by Voldemort himself, delving deeply into both Soul and Blood magics. Severus simply could not figure out the calculations, not without a cipher and the Arithmancy of the spell personally created by Voldemort. My death could only be delayed. So, I chose to use it to save Draco Malfoy instead."

Harry blinked. "What about Malfoy?" None of this made any sense! His heart pounded, and slowly his mind began to whirl. Dumbledore had just _allowed_ himself to die?

"Despite the rather poor influences in his life, young Mr. Malfoy is not currently, and should not ever be if possible, a cold-blooded murderer. His father made that mistake, and it ended up costing him a lifetime of servitude. His mission against my life was doomed from the start, simply a way to make Lucius suffer all the more for the failings in the Department of Mysteries. Using the Killing Curse successfully on another person...it would have made him a permanently scarred man, and he would have carried that with him for the rest of his life. That choice would likely have broken him, and made him one of Tom's most loyal. I could not, in good conscience, allow this to happen to a student of mine while I had the upper hand. It was better to have another, already more mature, to take his place. Severus only did as I asked him to, for the sake of his godson Draco." Dumbledore closed his eyes. "The hardest thing I have ever asked him to do, harder even than spying for the Order."

That was too much for Harry to believe, and he let the portrait of his mentor know. "How do you know that's the truth? He could have been fooling you all along, couldn't he? He betrayed the prophecy to Voldemort, once!"

Dumbledore sighed. A voice called out behind him quietly and Harry spun around, preparing to attack, but the spell registered in his head.

" _Expecto Patronum."_

What was he seeing? Soft, beautiful, and warm, he saw but did not recognize the doe walking toward him on silvery, graceful legs that floated off the granite floor without touching. Like Prongs, equally majestic, but this magnificent creature was curious, quick, and cunning. The perfect opposite.

" _Mum?"_ He whispered, quietly. He saw Snape standing, looking forlorn, and then the man slowly dispelled away the charm. Harry was so bewildered by this turn of events that he didn't even think to curse the man to pieces, staring at the man who looked so defeated as he stepped forward.

"I met Lily Evans when I was 10 years old, she lived down the street from me." Snape said quietly. "She was showing her sister a flower, and using her accidental magic to make it float."

He paused quietly, and Harry stared, torn between angry and stricken.

"Petunia, that horrid woman," spat the other man, "saw her as nothing more than a freak. But I saw her. The passion, the happiness...I knew that Lily Evans was something extraordinary. That day, I loved your mother, Potter."

Harry swallowed, staring unable to do anything more than absorb the information coming to him

"I was friends with her for a long time, but she eventually grew apart from me. That scene you saw in my Pensieve in your 5th year marked the end of our friendship...but I still loved her like my own sister, for a time even more so. And I hated James Potter for he was for years an immature fool, and carried her heart when I could not."

Snape sighed, and Harry could practically see the sour regret and shame boiling under the man's skin. "As a Death Eater, when I heard the prophecy, I did everything I could to stop Him, but only _after_ discovering the target. He eventually stated that all he would do was spare your mother. I was inconsolable, and certainly _not_ willing to abide by his terms. I came to Dumbledore and told him everything, _begged_ to help him protect them, but it wasn't enough. He...he killed them _both._ " Snape appeared to break, his voice hoarse. "And there she lay...only feet from your broken crib." The man's black eyes stared at his green, without really seeing him.

"I pledged myself to Dumbledore, an Unbreakable Vow to protect you from then on, no matter what the cost to me." Snape said, quietly. "I'm sorry. I've failed."

Harry's mouth opened and closed at least twice, before deciding what to say.

"Now I know why he said it. Voldemort." Snape winced at the name, but Dumbledore looked curious from the wall. "What do you mean, my boy?"

Memories flooded him. Desperate cries, screams of misery. Dementor's breath fogged up his recall but he remembered so clearly what he heard. "That night." Harry continued, his fist clenching. "She stood in front of me, and he told her….He told her…"

His voice broke into a sibilant hiss, half-Parseltongue, mimicking the tones of the Dark Lord but his voice still choked with emotion. "Step aside! Silly girl, step aside!"

The two look deeply shocked at his outburst. Snape's pallor had completely faded to a ghostly white, and he gripped the desk in front of him so hard Harry was almost sure it would snap under his fingers.

"He only had been trying to keep your wish. She chose to spite him, to protect me."

Snape collapsed behind the headmaster's desk with a moan, rubbing his temples for a moment, tossing his wand down onto the wood with a _clatter_. Then he looked up sharply as if finally realizing something important.

"Potter," he said slowly, black eyes drilling into him, lips curling as he spoke sarcastically, "not that I _don't_ appreciate you barging in like a dunderhead and killing Yaxley while he spouted drivel and then trying to kill _me_ , but why in Morgana's name are you here?"

" _Barging in like a dunderhead and killing Yaxley while he spouted drivel…"_

Harry felt himself go lightheaded where he stood, remembering the almost unconscious _reducto_ that had blasted a hole straight through the Death Eater, the events of the day flooding back to him. The assassin in his house. _Undesirable number one._ Even Petunia…God, he'd killed two people and run from home right into _Snape..._

"...tter, _Potter!_ Look at me!" Something sharp slapped him in the face, and he felt a large armchair push his legs out from underneath him and into a chair. Dazed, he reeled himself in, taking deep lungfuls of air as his panicking breaths began to even out. "Drink this." He looked up to Snape holding a glass vial in his hand, standing over him with a hand on his shoulder. "You look like Death on your feet, you idiot boy. You may be nearing panic or shock. Drink the Calming Draught and wait for a moment, then tell me why you've come."

He swallowed it in two large gulps, feeling a calm, cool, minty sensation spread throughout his body and stomach, turning into a slow warmth that made him collapse back into the chair. Hesitantly, he began to monotonously recite the events of the evening - the assassin in his house and the death of the Dursleys, how he'd shot the man with a gun in the basement and apparated into Hogsmeade. Snape looked a little green at his overly-descriptive story telling, _but it's the greasy bat's fault for giving me this potion, it feels like a drop of some truth potion in this cocktail_ , Harry thought, with some seriously misplaced vindictive glee. He confided that Vernon was most likely also dead, having not come home from work for almost two hours. For a man freakishly obsessed with being consistent and normal, it was a fantastically unusual occurrence. "Then you saw what happened next when I heard Yaxley talking, Snape," he finished, acerbically.

For some reason, the man didn't even seem to care that Harry was using his last name anymore, which struck him as being positively too friendly for the man. On the contrary, though, Snape looked perturbed.

"What happened to the blood-wards?" He demanded when Harry had finished the tale. The boy shrugged in response, his reaction somewhat dulled by the potion keeping him in check.

"I dunno." Harry remarked with a frown. "Figured someone at the Ministry was able to give a HitWizard my address under the table. Or maybe an Unspeakable broke the wards."

Snape was shaking his head at the first response but his eyes went wide at the second. He turned to the portrait of Dumbledore with a murderous expression on his face. The painted man raised his hands pleadingly and shook his head. "If there is something the Department of Mysteries can do to break blood wards with such ease, I have knowledge of it. It does seem plausible, however." The portrait looked academically thoughtful as he considered the scenario, and the former potions professor snorted in disgust and looked away.

The dark haired man growled, turning back to the younger boy. "You heard Yaxley. Granger is safe, though I have no clue where she is. The Death Eaters have attacked several of your friends in the past day. The Burrow withstood an assault led by Rookwood, no one was hurt though it appears there were...complications for our friends in black." Snape seemed to sneer at this, but Harry was only relieved that they were alright. "The Dark Lord himself killed Augusta Longbottom, and Xenophilius Lovegood was killed in a raid as well, both their homes destroyed."

At _this_ little bit of news, even under the drugged influence of the Potion, Harry rose up with a panic. Snape placated him immediately, pushing him down into the chair.

"Your friend Longbottom disappeared by a Portkey triggered by his grandmother during the fight, and could not be found even by the Dark Lord himself. The Lovegood girl triggered an alarm meant to catch her but apparated directly into Diagon Alley and disappeared, she's performed no magic picked up by the Trace since. For now, they're both as safe as can be. If you rush off now you'll simply be killed."

Harry relaxed at this, his head falling back into the chair. His eyes blinked lazily. He was _tired._ So tired. The potion had him as calm as he had ever felt and completely unwound, the news of his friends remaining safe despite their losses finally gave him just enough relief to let go. His body felt like jelly. His surroundings seemed to drift off as he let his eyes fall closed, drifting onward into the realms of the Dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Annnnd that's all for today. CH 3 is already in progress, I'm thinking about introducing some side-characters that interact with various members of our ensemble. Hit me up with any suggestions since I'll probably be considering their roles at any point down the line anyway. Next chapter will have some letters between friends, more on events surrounding the protagonists, and hopefully I can set up a little Ministry Six reunion either at the end or starting in CH 4 by the time it's done. I may not post CH 3 until getting underway into CH 4, so we'll see how long it takes to crank out.
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	3. Wartime Correspondence, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna learns some surprising truths about herself, Neville goes over what his grandmother left him, and Harry gets a small bit of advice about his next steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
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> AN: Alright ladies and gents, here's Chapter 3. I've decided to not include every character's POV in every chapter, and split this up into two parts. Weasleys and Hermione get their due next chapter. If I hadn't split it up, the overall length would be somewhere in the ballpark of 13K words, which is way too goddamn long. I'd probably read it if someone else wrote it, but I bet no one else would.  
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**CH - Wartime Correspondence, Part I**

_**July 15th, 1997, 0717 hours** _

Harry Potter awoke with a groan, feeling more refreshed than he had in ages. He rolled off a bed he didn't remember getting into, raising his eyebrows at the t-shirt and pajamas he found himself wearing. Sunlight beamed through the stained glass windows above the Headmaster's desk, as he sat up in the antechamber and gazed at the books surrounding him. He found a note lying on the table that held Dumbledore's old Pensieve, written in the thin, sharp cursive that he recognized from a certain potions book last year. He grimaced as he read.

.

.

_Potter,_

_Our conversation was cut rather short yesterday. I gave you a concoction of my own making, a Calming Draught modified with jobberknoll feathers and mixed with a delayed version of Dreamless Sleep Potion. I myself often took a half-dose before reporting to Albus, after a difficult meeting with the Dark Lord. If my calculations are correct you should have slept for nearly 10 hours._

_Hogwarts is open to you as sanctuary until September 1st. Through Albus' own manipulations before his passing, and Death Eater threats to the Board of Governors and through the Ministry, I will find myself being announced Headmaster within a day or two. If you are publicly sighted anywhere in the castle after school starts, I will be forced to detain you - neither you nor I would find this agreeable._

_The Headmaster saw fit to only provide me only hints and inklings with regard to the task before you this year, but I expected nothing less from the secretive old goat. It is not my place to do so, but I strongly suggest using this castle as a base of knowledge upon which to learn as much as possible. Your search for artifacts belonging to the Dark Lord means that you will need to study more advanced magics than you have been exposed to before, perhaps including runes, curse-breaking, even basic healing and arithmancy (a muggle foundation in maths, of which I believe you have some, decreases the difficulty of this subject dozens-fold)._

_I further suggest polishing your duelling skills, having been treated to a rather dangerous sample yesterday. Your improvement in non-verbal magic is clear and your fighting reflexes are quite fast, but your understanding of tactics is limited to unpredictable movement and improvisation, and your spell repertoire is unfortunately abysmal if you intend to fight a war. Your magical core has expanded. You are powerful, but you cannot win with force if you do not maintain your skill. Dumbledore may have been content to finish battles with stunning spells, but cannot afford it, especially not in the current political situation. There is no prison for Death Eaters under the Dark Lord's rule. If you only use simple spells, and Unforgivables when you are enraged, then you will find yourself cursed in the back, if not magically exhausted and captured._ _You_ _ **must**_ _learn more to improve your fighting chances, combat Dark magic, and perhaps subsequently to use it while comprehending its various pitfalls._

_I was told that Granger and Weasley would be joining your little quest. Albus left me an unofficial will to execute, with items for the three of you that supposedly would help (he did not inform me why or how they'd be useful - more secrets). However, I urge you to bring Lovegood, Longbottom, and the younger Weasley into the fold, or at least to a safer location. The Weasley girl has undergone a transformation of sorts - I will not share as it is not my place, but suffice to say the Dark Lord would not allow her to remain at Hogwarts or at home, regardless. Longbottom and Lovegood would be little more than hostages to draw you out if they board the Express in September, especially since their families are out of the way. It would be better to bring them all here to aid your cause._

_I will be brewing in the dungeons for most of the day. The house elves would be more than willing to bring you food at any time, as I'm sure you're aware. If something is urgent come speak to me in my office, or feel free to join me at dinner in the Great Hall around 7:30 this evening._

_._

_._

Harry idly noticed the letter was only signed " _Severus Snape,"_ and not as professor. He shook his head, forcibly clearing his thoughts. Snape's twist in behavior was only baffling because he refused to acknowledge where it came from. His mind flashed back to his first Quidditch game all those years ago, being completely convinced that Snape had been trying to kill him. Harry had only ever seen what he wished to see, but Snape had only ever showed him what Harry needed.

_To be fair, he wasn't really giving me any reason not to believe it,_ Harry thinks with a snort.

To an extent, he understood. Snape may be a bitter, jealous, and spiteful man, but also a man of his word. His life's work as a spy was simply a manifestation of the shame coalesced in his knotted mind. He disliked Harry for being partly James Potter, and protected him because he was partly Lily. He was selfish, sure, perhaps not a good man in many ways, but staunch and unwavering nonetheless. Snape only really cared about him because he could kill Voldemort, and because the dour man respected and loved Lily too much.

The rumbles in his stomach interrupted his thoughts, preventing him from thinking too hard about the potions professor.

"Dobby?" He calls out to the empty air of the office, hopefully. With a sharp crack the little house-elf pops into existence, eyes widening to tennis-ball-like proportions upon seeing his friend. "Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is not knowing you's be here in Hogwarts!" The elf squeaked and jumped a couple times, bouncing around. A wry grin crossed Harry's face at his exuberance. He couldn't help but notice the bright, mismatched pink and green socks decorating Dobby's feet.

"Yeah, I'll be here for the rest of the summer, probably. Nice socks, Dobby. Could you do me a favor and get me a little something to eat for breakfast?" Dobby nodded vigorously and _popped_ away so fast, Harry didn't even have time to say thanks. He blinked and shrugged, reaching over for his neatly folded trousers on the edge of the bed, to pull out the shrunken trunk still in the pocket. He tapped it once to enlarge it and wrenched open the lid, knowing he had some letters that needed to be written, and soon. He grabbed a couple sheets of parchment from the bottom of the trunk, fishing for a quill and rummaging through his clothes to find an inkwell.

He suddenly looked sick, a sudden thought striking him as he searched, looking down at himself and his sleepwear. _I really fucking hope Snape used a Switching Spell to get these clothes on, otherwise I'm going to flay him alive._ That particularly repulsive line of thought was interrupted by another sharp _crack_ as Dobby popped back into the room, carrying a tray of various fruits and bread, along with a plate carrying a couple poached eggs.

Harry could practically feel his mouth water, realizing that he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday and had probably slept upwards of twelve hours. He thanked the little elf with a smile as Dobby popped away (the tyke had become at least a _little_ used to being treated like a sentient now, and didn't immediately burst into tears). As he tore into the food like Ron at every breakfast, he hesitantly began to think over the contents of his letters. Truth be told, he was dreading it. He hoped they would stay safe and join him in time, but having to address Neville and Luna so soon after they'd lost family was a daunting feeling.

Mood ruined, he finished off his eggs and pushed the plate to the side, making space for the sheet of parchment on the desk. He flicked open the inkwell and sighed, dipping the quill in the dark sticky ink, stabbing the sharp tip down to paper. Was he making the right choice, or dragging his friends into hell?

It would be months before Harry truly understood that he was doing both.

* * *

_**July 15th, 1997, 1046 hours** _

Neville Longbottom awoke with a groan of disgust, his neck cracking as he lifted his head from that rubbish excuse of a transfigured pillow. The morning sun glared through the glass walls of the little greenhouse, burning his poorly-adjusting eyes as he rubbed them. He muttered a quick _tempus_ charm to see that it was quarter-till 11.

The night before, he'd brushed his hand over the top of the trunk and it had _stabbed_ him, the ruddy thing. A pinprick of something shot out and sliced his hand, dripping his blood all over the golden image of his family crest. Even though it was a blood-magic verification not unlike the ones he'd seen goblins use, it still annoyed him. The trunk had revealed a lid and opened into two compartments. One half held a shining artifact - a curved shortbow with no arrows or quiver, in brilliant gold. The weapon Gran had written about. _Bloody useless it is with no quiver of arrows,_ he'd thought to himself _._

He'd inspected it carefully for a moment and noticed little runes he was completely unable to identify - scores upon scores of them carved with pinpoint precision, up and down the limbs and grip of the bow. The string was dense, and the weapon had felt curiously _alive_ when he reached for it, its magic burning at his palm when he picked it up loosely. He didn't dare draw the string; he hadn't taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, but he knew that whatever language that was, it was _not_ Elder Futhark, or any of the related Germanic runes for that matter. That bothered him. Futhark was the only standard language used in runic magic in modern Wizarding Britain, and even throughout most of Europe. He had no idea what the bow was capable of and would rather not lose his life touching random dangerous artifacts. Hell, he couldn't even tell what the string was made from. Even if it had been left by his own family, every magical child knew not to touch artifacts without checking them first.

The other compartment had been far more promising to him. There were scores upon scores of glass containers for all sorts of plant-harvesting purposes, stacked in an endless compartment. A small, curved, talon-like Herbology knife gleamed with a pearl-like sheen, twinkling innocently on top the jars. Neville suspected that his grandmother had pulled out all the stops to get this gift, as the little blade seemed to be treated with something rare that would preserve the plants he harvested. After resting until the sunrise, he'd toiled away for an entire day, stopping only to mope and eat. He satiated his hunger and thirst by eating several well-placed magical vegetables and fruits in the corner of the garden.

Neville spent hour after hour carefully cutting and cleaning up fluxweed, knotgrass, dittany leaves, belladonna, butobers, and even a couple bouncing bulbs, among the many plants surrounding him. There was even a Chinese chomping cabbage, for Merlin's sake. He drowned in the tasks, pausing momentarily to process his grief and loneliness, before pushing it aside and soldiering on. Tears had long since dried into awkward tracks on his face. Some moments he thought of his anger, his magic boiling as he raggedly whispered aloud promises of revenge against the Dark Lord. Later, he found himself dreaming of better lives, of pasts unwritten, of moments of pain that should-not-but-did come to pass. Almost unconsciously he swiped his knives back and forth. He'd cried harder when he realized exactly _what_ he was harvesting. Dittany and butober pus could be used for several healing potions, the cabbage was used in Skele-gro, fluxweed and knotgrass were Polyjuice ingredients...and so on. Gran had given him tools to fight, thinking about helping her grandson by utilizing his strengths. Healing potions, poisons, disguise potions, and truth compulsions: the whole lot of rarer ingredients was his for the taking.

He was so exhausted by the time he'd finished for the day, he barely managed to transfigure a pillow and two blankets before falling asleep right there in the dirt. It wasn't a surprise to him that he'd slept so long - the long catharsis of herbology combined with the trauma from the past day and a half had knocked him on his arse. Yet he was still annoyed that he'd allowed himself to just sit in a greenhouse for 24 hours, completely helpless without even thinking about it, just because of his single-minded stubbornness.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Neville whirled around, eyes widening as he saw a rather odd sight. A barn owl was smacking its beak furiously into the glass door on the opposite side of the little greenhouse, carrying a letter in its talons. He quickly stood up and twisted the doorknob to let the little bird in. The cheeky thing fluttered its wings and dropped the letter on his head. He swore as he bent over to pick up the parchment while the school owl flapped its wings and flew away.

"Fucking Hogwarts owls," he muttered. He recognized the seal on the envelope, but he knew instinctively that this wasn't going to be a seventh year Hogwarts letter. He clenched it tight as he tore it open and began to read.

.

.

_Neville,_

_I heard last night about your grandmother, mate, and I'm so sorry. You're not the only one. The Ministry has completely fallen, the whole thing is bolloxed. Apparently Luna lost her father last night and the Burrow was also attacked. Hermione's currently on the run somewhere, Death Eaters couldn't find her. My muggle relatives were all killed yesterday and I barely managed to run off by the skin of my teeth._

_Hermione, Ron, and I were never planning on attending our seventh year. I won't talk about it much in a letter, but Dumbledore left me a task to complete that's important to the war effort, and they convinced me to drag them along at the end of last year. Now with your families all gone, yourself, Luna, and Ginny would just be hostages if you went back to Hogwarts publicly. I'm currently hiding in the castle, but come next school-year it'll be run by Death Eaters._

_We'll be on the run, finishing off Voldemort once and for all. If you want in, or at least want to meet up with us before we disappear, apparate directly into the Shrieking Shack after dark tonight, 9PM._

_-Harry_

_PS: To confirm it is me, at the end of first year before Hermione petrified you, you yelled at Ron: "Don't you call me an idiot! I don't think you should be breaking any more rules. And you were the ones who told me to stand up to people!"_

_._

_._

Neville grinned darkly, finishing up the letter and then lifting his knife to harvest the rest of the hidden greenhouse. He was on a deadline now...places to be, things to do.

Then he groaned, tossing the knife to the side. He really needed to take a piss first.

* * *

_**July 15th, 1997, 1447 hours** _

Luna Lovegood quirked an eyebrow at the flesh-eating slugs as she walked leisurely toward Gringotts. The hag carried them in a tank where they floated and bounced freely, like nasty little soap bubbles.

_It's an odd sort of omen,_ Luna mused, scanning the unusually quiet streets, _when hags walk around Diagon in broad daylight._ Very few wizards and witches were about. They hustled with their heads down, many wearing hoods or scarves and trying to keep their faces hidden. Of course, all masks and such had to be removed inside stores, but she thought that little bylaw was rather foolish. It's not like they'd notice a glamour. Plus, Nargles didn't hesitate just because you were inside, after all. If they wanted you, they got you.

Some stores were boarded up. She was sad to see Mr. Ollivander's store was still shuttered. His wandkeeper apprentices were not keen on continuing his business, now that You-Know-Who had apparently kidnapped the man himself. She frowned visibly as she passed Fortescue's, knowing his brilliant passion for history and his lovely icecream wasn't around anymore. Now the signs and the bright colors were simply gone, erased, the store a broken eyesore. A poor tribute to the man who had been much more of a contributor to the Wizarding world than the "pureblood scions" who'd worn masks, dragged him out, and killed him in the street.

She wasn't feeling that particular dreaminess, the wavy blur between reality and Sight. Her anger twisted in her soul, her eyes seemed terribly clear as she gazed upon the result of the devastation Voldemort had wrought. All for a false cause that He himself held no faith in.

_The slashkilters will get them,_ she thought, fuming. _They_ _ **will,**_ _we swear it._ She forced her anxiety down into herself. The drizzle of raindrops turned to a steady drumbeat of rain, her blue dragonhide boots sloshing against puddles as she stepped brisk, faster, English oak and unicorn-mane wand clenched in her tight knuckles.

Luna forced herself to keep the wood tucked in her robes, next to the little torn envelope she'd gotten from Harry. She had Seen him in the Headmaster's office, and wondered what Snape had said to him about Dumbledore to regain his trust. It was only expected that he would write to her, to gather their friends together. Still, it warmed her heart to read his concern for her, his worry for a true friend. She could tell from the tone of his words, and the way his quill had carved deep into the parchment, that he'd be out looking for her if he didn't think she was safe. She didn't have a good track record with friends, she knew. Until Ginny they had all come and gone like tides, later calling her names and taking her things. She'd never been cared for by another unconditionally, while giving in friendship and loyalty in return. Having been deprived of all that, she wouldn't trade this new feeling of camaraderie, this steadfast strength, for anything.

She let go of her wand as she neared Gringotts. The building reminded her of forever - tall and proud, white marble twisted into columns, the building slightly crooked and twisted around itself as though warped under the weight of its own history. An unchanging symbol of the Goblin race. The two heavily armed goblin guards outside were the only noticeable difference in the facade. She wondered how such proud creatures would weather this war. Would they join the Dark Lord, shunning the corruption and bigotry of the Ministry for promises of strength? Their neutrality was admirable, in a sense, but it could not be maintained. Lord Voldemort would not allow anyone to hold power over him, and goblin control over all major flows of gold was nothing more than a liability.

She allowed no sign of her anxiety to escape her as she entered the front door. The goblins may have made gold their business, but their culture was of war. Luna did not consider herself an expert, but she knew more than most. Her father had always emphasized understanding any magical creature or beast before approaching: their nature, their habitat, their instincts, and so on. Goblins respected strength and the promise of bloodshed, they did not tolerate nonsense or machinations that did not suit their purposes. Creatures of efficiency and worthy of respect. So very few wizards understood how respect among goblins worked at all - they would foolishly attempt to curry favor by appeasement, or simply ignore them, or worse ridicule them as lesser by lack of empathy and comprehension.

Luna was surprised at the two human guards inside the main antechamber, though. They stood together, looking an awful lot like muggle policemen in their strange blue uniforms. She almost giggled at them and their silly little look, but managed to hold back. There was a small queue, and she watched in detached interest as they seemed to scan every passing customer with Probity Probes before allowing them inside. She wondered exactly _why_ the goblins had decided to do this, almost as if they were expecting something untoward from the new Ministry, using what appeared to be their own curse-breakers to guard the premises. It didn't matter much, though, she could do little about the matter. When it was her turn she allowed the probing magic to pass over her without issue.

The shining-dark sculpted hallway of black marble sprawled before her in usual splendor, lit by glistening chandeliers made of crystals so fine and plentiful they brought forth the image of a floating rain of glass. The place seemed muted, though, too dark and quiet. Whether it was due to the absence of usual business crowds, or the goblins themselves were more surly than usual, she couldn't tell.

A teller rang his bell, and Luna walked forwards, her boots thumping rainwater across the lavish floor. She walked up to the desk where the goblin sat, scribbling furiously on a piece of paperwork. He opened his mouth to ask "Name?" like all the tellers did. She cut him short.

"May your enemies bleed at your feet and gold flow through your vaults, master teller." She spoke calmly, clearly. The goblin's quill froze in shock on the parchment before him, no doubt leaving a big blot of ink splattered on the page. Slowly the severe-looking creature looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow at the 16 year-old girl before him beaming with an impish smile. He snorted.

"Well met, wood-waver. May your foes tremble under your blades and your wealth grow immeasurably. How may Gringotts Bank be of service to you today?" He bared his sharp teeth in a grin that would probably terrify most magicals. Even Luna felt the hair on her neck shiver slightly at his expression of delight. She knew he was merely intrigued, and simply smiled in return, her teeth visible in a slightly _sharper_ manner, mimicking his movements.

"I request the Rite of Inheritance by blood, as the last of my family line, Luna of House Lovegood." She stood firm, looking up at the creature's beady-dark-glinting eyes that crinkled in amusement and mild interest. He nodded and pressed a button on his desk, speaking a garbled phrase of Gobbledegook into a small microphone. A moment later, a younger looking goblin hurried up to the desk on short legs, standing next to Luna. It gave a quick bow, before gesturing for her to follow.

A few minutes later she reached an office, a fairly simple one to her surprise. She'd never been inside Gringotts besides the twisting caverns and cart-rails that were the vaults. It occurred to her that this building's secrets were immense, perhaps not limited to the vaults at all. _Snagtooth,_ read the inscription on the glass door, painted in liquid gold leaf. She was presented with a wooden office door that looked almost muggle - save for the trim in enchanted overlay, framing that typical wavy-looking glass you found in offices to obscure the gaze and create a little privacy (but not so much as to be unable to see through the other side). It looked surprisingly modern, she decided, while most wizards were stupid enough to think goblins were backwards, hoarding creatures. On the other hand, it seemed a bit too difficult to conduct business in caves, she thought wryly. She wondered for a moment if the idiots believed goblins would write on stone tablets too, before banishing the errant amusement from her mind as the office door swung open.

Snagtooth was an old goblin, compared to the other few she had seen. He had a tangled beard and thick mustache that flowed together in sharp form. An odd mental-image of a cross between Dumbledore and Flitwick appeared in her mind's eye, but she stifled the amusement again. The elder goblin barked a series of harsh syllables in response to the younger's greeting, and the courier bowed to both of them before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Luna greeted the goblin again, the phrases of greeting flowing from her lips, slightly altered for his higher station. "Well-met, Snagtooth, may your gold always flow, and your foes shrink from you in terror." The goblin nodded deeply, inclining his head as a show of respect. He motioned with a wave of his hand, and a comfortable silence came over the room as Luna sat before him.

A bowl of volcanic black glass appeared in the center of the table with a slight _whoosh_ , thin and glistening under the were-lamps. An aura of old magic seemed to radiate from the thing. Luna couldn't tear her eyes from it, entranced. There are hints, traces on it, and she feels them all, remnants of people who had bled across it before as they ascended and claimed that which belonged to their ancestors, riches and family magics far beyond her own. She saw the runes carved in sharp relief, and she observes more than recognizes the fact that they clearly cannot be human runes - nor of any language she can remember having seen. They are carvings made by blade, not chisel, of single lines and arrows and shapes that cut across and over each other in an endless rhythm that she can almost hear just by staring at the abstract gouges...

She hefted the dagger that appeared beside the ritual bowl with apparent ease. The goblin nodded again, finally speaking his first words aloud.

"Use the dagger to prick your hand for a small volume of blood, Miss Lovegood. A half-dozen drops or so will do. The quantity is rather unimportant so long as it reaches the reservoir in the center of the bowl, touching nothing but the dagger and the air. I will be able to produce the results for you when the process is complete." His eyes did not leave her face as she peered down at the dagger, she noticed from the corner of her eye. The knife was fairly ornate, but also far more simple than any goblin-made piece of equipment she had ever seen. Perhaps they wanted to avoid the magic of her blood intermingling with goblin metal enchantments. She shrugged and sliced across her finger, dripping several drops of blood into the bowl. The _drip-drip_ sounds were not audible, but Luna could almost feel the echo of them in her mind, watching the blood fall. After the seventh drop, she placed the dagger on the wooden table, mending the slice on her finger with a quick _Episkey._

Before her awed eyes, the seven drops seemed to swirl together in the bottom of the bowl, creating a little pool. Slowly, it began to replicate itself, a small swirling puddle that seemed to ebb and ease, stretching forward as if it was _exploring_. Her breath caught in her chest, a slow pressure that began to rise in her throat. The magic intensified around her, growing as the blood itself seemed to pulsate with energy, climbing the walls of the bowl. Luna blinked as it sunk into the tiny, harsh-looking runes, stretching upward for the bowl's rim like a living biofilm of fluid, digging into crevices as it went. The inscriptions began to glow with a soft red light as each individual letter filled with her blood.

She stretched out her senses to it. It was like pure delirium, a dream unfulfilled, a hope untarnished. The blood throbbed under her feather-light urging and she fell back against her chair as it ballooned outwards, relishing its returning caress against her magic. It twisted and shifted ineffably, rumbled and reveled in her presence. It felt sentient, stretching and cocooning her in its aura. _How is this possible_...She wondered to herself, staring at the bowl before her. _This wasn't supposed to happen, I just wanted my father's vaults, some extra gold, some trinkets to help my friends. What is this intense magic?_

She reached her own magic forward slightly, brushing against it and hoping to connect with it, just momentarily, knowing surely how dangerous it could be to her magical core if this went wrong. Something like lightning jolted through her as she did so, overcome with the bitter scent of a Dirigible plum as her magic roiled in pleasure.

_I'm feeling my own magic_ _ **grow**_ _**itself**_ _from seven drops of blood._ It was the smell that clarified what exactly she was touching. An aura manifested by pure magic. The realization shocked her, understanding that the _richness_ filling Snagtooth's office with power was none other than herself _._ Luna watched in awe as her blood crawled to the rim of the bowl, before dripping out. The goblin quickly pushed a yellow piece of parchment under it, watching as the blood absorbed itself into the fibers and began to flow in lines that formed into words.

The goblin stared at the paper and at her alternately, as if trying to determine the cause of an invisible anomaly.

"Your essence is not normal, Miss Lovegood," Snagtooth growled, appearing perplexed. "No human blood should have reacted that way, with such a tangible sensation of wild magic." He peered down at the writing before him, then stopped as if frozen in place. Silence reigned throughout the quiet office, even as the built-up magic began to peter away. She wondered for a moment if the goblin had somehow petrified itself, it seemed to sit so still she couldn't even see him breathe. Ever so slowly, the creature slid the parchment across the desk, and Luna almost snatched it up in her grasp in impatience.

_Nothing scares a goblin._ Luna knew this intimately. Their understanding of glory and power was such that they would rather die painfully and brutally than bring shame to their clan. So what was it about her inheritance and her blood that brought such fear into the eyes of such a proud member of a proud race? The Ravenclaw in her mind was screaming at her that she _must_ understand, she _needed_ to see…

Luna lost her patience and grabbed the page, crinkling the parchment in her fist, and read to herself the inheritance that would forcefully shove her life onto a different track...

.

.

_**Luna Pandora of House Lovegood,**_ **TITLED (unidentifiable)**

_**Race/Heritage:** _ **Human,** _**Aes Sídhe (Amadan Fae)** _

_**Bloodline Abilities:** _ **Three-eyed-seer, unidentifiable**

_**Bloodline Claims:** _ **Minor House Lovegood**

_**Vault(s): Lovegood Family Vault (#579)** _

_._

_._

She stared, running her finger across the lines on the page, over and over again. The truth mocked her in congealed ocher-red lifeblood, drying on the page.

_Oh! Well...shit…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> AN: That's all for today folks. Ch 4 is written, will probably throw it up in a couple of days, and I've already started working on 5. Their reunion might be held off for a bit longer than I anticipated, but it should be happening by the time Ch 5 wraps up. As always, reviews are lovely and feedback is heavily appreciated.  
> .  
> .  
> .


	4. Wartime Correspondence, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our younger Weasley's get a memo. Hermione has a rough day, and recognizes an unfamiliar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Chapter 4 is here! Without further ado...  
> .  
> .

**CH - Wartime Correspondence, Part II**

_**July 15th, 1997, 0941 hours** _

Ginny kicked the squealing creature off-balance and grabbed it by its legs; not even bothering to spin it round, she hurled it over the garden fence like Chaser practice. The screaming gnome blasted forward like a shot from a cannon, soaring far and high before landing with an audible _thump,_ bouncing twice in the distant fields.

Ron goggled at the sight, knowing he could never replicate his sister's inhuman feat. "Bloody buggerin' hell, Ginny." He grinned as some of the remaining gnomes emerged from their holes, scrambling for their lives. The vampire picked another one up, ignoring its weak attempts to bite at her. She shook it like jingling a bag of coins, and then threw it overhand, wincing slightly as she watched it soar far off, and slam into the ground head-first. Ron chortled behind her, spinning one over his head before tossing it a meagre twenty feet or so. The remaining gnomes panicked and began to flee, their instincts telling them to run from the predator in their midst.

"They probably think you're going to eat them." Ron looked amused as his gaze tracked the terrified creatures stumbling through the tomatoes. Ginny soured slightly at the poor joke, but rolled her eyes.

"They probably taste like raw potatoes, Ronniekins," she said, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the garden before her. "That's disgusting." She muttered absently, gazing off into the distance. Thankfully, cloud cover obscured the bright rays of what otherwise would have been a sunny day, allowing her the freedom to walk around without discomfort. It wouldn't be so easy, though. She would do everything to keep herself from being trapped. Thoughts of the next year had been plaguing her all summer.

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts this year Ron." She said it out of the blue, unable to keep her mouth shut. Her brother stared at her, attempting to argue. She threw up a hand before he finished opening his mouth. "Oh, shut it you git, you're not Mum so don't lecture me. Use your head. I've been thinking about this a lot longer than you have brother, the whole summer. You-Know-Who has the Ministry kissing his arse. Next on his list is the Hogwarts Governors. Who do you think is our next Headmaster? Even if Snape isn't in charge, you think a controlled Ministry is going to let a vampire live in the school? They'd force me to be a prisoner or a Death Eater under imperius, immediately."

Ron sighed slowly, letting out a fat breath of exasperation. She could tell by the look on his face that he was perturbed but not surprised.

"I thought about it even before I knew about those fangs of yours," he muttered, kicking a loose clod of grass. "Bet you 10 Galleons that attending Hogwarts will be 'compulsory' just so they can keep their eye on everybody left. It's not a secret that you were together with Harry for last year. If we just off and left, and you still went back..." He trailed off, brushing the overgrown ginger mop out of his eyes.

"HA!" Ginny crowed in triumph, giving her elder brother a shove-and ignoring his indignant yelp as he nearly went sprawling. "You think I'm stupid? I knew you three weren't going to go back to Hogwarts next year."

Ron sputtered, trying to cover his mistake.

"I-no-what are you talkin' about?" He tried, lamely, ears reddening like they always did when he was embarrassed. There was no coming back from that gaffe. Ginny rolled her eyes at his weak excuses.

"I'm not a flobberworm. Do you think I didn't see you three huddled around each other, making plans after Dumbledore's funeral? Plus, what sort of useless Ministry would allow the Chosen One to go back to class?" She finished sarcastically. She rounded on her brother and fixed him a glare that made Ron step back. "Take me with you."

"Bloody hell that makes you look like Mum," Ron groaned, shoving his hands in his pockets, shrinking from her as the glare intensified. "You're right, 'course. It's not only my decision though." He paused, before shaking his head, continuing. "Dumbledore left Harry something important to do last year, something dangerous. Can't say much, you know how it is. When Hermione and I found out, we said we'd leave school and join him. Now that you can't go back to Hogwarts, you could think about coming with us, but it's up to the two of them, not just me." Ron pointed at her mouth. "You're going to have to explain the whole blood-sucking thing to them too, you know."

The slightly angry look on her face dissolved instantly at that. Ron was gazing at her quizzically for a moment but seemed to look off into the distance. He looked back at the house, seeming to debate something with himself, then motioning her to follow him. She looked at him, confused, but he waved her off. They walked in silence for a few moments until they neared the little pond near the edge of the wards, hidden by a copse of birch and oak trees. He took off his shoes with a grin, sitting down and dipping his toes in. She laughed and followed him, rolling up her socks and stuffing them in her sneakers.

The water felt different, she noticed, as she stuck her toes in. "It doesn't feel cold anymore," she muttered, glaring at the water, kicking up a splash. She sighed as her brother slung an arm around her.

"Did I hurt you or treat you differently when I found out about you turning last night?" Ron asked, seriously. She jerked up from where she'd leant her head against his shoulder .

"No, you prat. You helped so much! I was nervous, scared...and you helped me."

Ron gazed at her for a minute. His blue eyes, just like her _dad's_ eyes, were piercing her, but she didn't flinch even when she wanted to. He nodded.

"I'm not going to lie and say that things'll be the same. I'm not going to pretend that parts of it aren't scary and that everything is going to be sunshine and roses when dealing with this. You drink human blood for Morgana's sake. But you trust me to stick with you, right?"

Ginny nodded slowly, not sure where he was going with this.

"So why are you nervous about telling Harry and Hermione, like they're not going to do the same thing as I am?" He asked bluntly, his eyes still staring at her. She almost bolted at the question, eyes wide in shock, then frowning as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"But they-" Ron cut her off before she could say what she wanted.

"No buts. Harry and you-The two of you might get back together permanently or might not at all, that's between you two after what happened last year." He squeezed her sternly but snug. "I know my best mate. At the very least, he could never hold it against you. He didn't fall for you for a good snog or because you're pretty, but for who you are. He got over Lupin being a werewolf faster than I did, if he can't get used to this idea, then he's not my friend Harry." Ron said simply, shrugging his shoulders. "Hermione'll probably ask a dozen questions when she hears about it, and then reassure you. I'm here for you, and they should be too."

" _Hoot!"_

Ginny would later be ashamed of the sharp _eep_ she couldn't help in the moment. Beside her, Ron yelped "bloody hell," and spun around. An oversized long-eared owl sat behind them, a letter clutched in its talons. She could almost swear the damned bird was laughing at them as it dropped the letter in Ron's lap and fluttered off without a second's hesitation.

"Speak of the devil." Ron muttered, picking up the envelope. "It's Harry's handwriting. Where'd he get the owl from though? It wasn't Hedwig." Ginny impatiently snatched the letter out of his hands and began to read it aloud, ignoring Ron's weak protests.

_Ron,_

_I hope this letter reaches you alright. I heard the Burrow got attacked but there were no injuries. Your place wasn't the only raid. Someone came to Privet Drive and killed my relatives. Neville and Luna both had their homes burned, I'm sure their families are dead, though it seems the two of them managed to escape. Hermione seems to be hiding, Death Eaters believe her place is under Fidelius. To be honest, she hasn't written me anything recently, so I don't know what's going on._

_I managed to bug out and am currently hiding in Hogwarts. Some crazy stuff has come to light, and now that the Ministry's gone we're all targets. I know the plan was for the Order to pick me up on my birthday, but that plan is shot to hell. I'm now staying in the castle to prepare for the job we were working on before the summer hols._

_I sent Neville and Luna letters too and they can at least stay with us for a while, and I'll give them the option to join us. I have a new source (if barely trustworthy) who told me that Ginny has undergone some sort of "transformation" that means she can't attend Hogwarts and makes her more a target, though they mentioned nothing to me about what happened. If it's true, invite her with us. We can't afford to take chances anymore._

_Apparate directly into the Shrieking Shack at 9PM tonight if you can. If not tonight, send a Patronus or an owl, so I can sneak the two of you into the castle later._

_-Harry_

_P.S: Send Ginny my love and best wishes (you don't get to hex me for that, mate). I really hope she's ok, please let her know that I'm thinking of her._

_P.P.S: To confirm it's me, Lockhart lost his memory because he took Charlie's old broken wand from you and tried to cast an Obliviate in the Chamber of Secrets after we shoved him in. The entrance is in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom._

Ginny looked up to see her brother's pale expression frozen in confusion and anger, as he snatched the letter from her hands. "Blimey," he muttered weakly, "Neville's gran is dead, and old Xeno too. Crazy bloke, but alright though, wasn't he? Poor Luna, they…"

She remembered the man, Luna's rather batty but kind father, when the two of them had been young and played together near the Rookery's streams and fields. She remembered his bright yellow and purple robes and exuberant stories of eras long gone and creatures she'd never be able to see. She knew that her blonde Ravenclaw friend had been torn apart when her mother died. Ginny tried to imagine what it would be like without her own parents, her brothers...she couldn't.

"I'm coming with you. We're going to help them." Ginny said, her voice tremulous, her tone sharply determined. Ron turned to her, expression pained. "Gin…"

"Don't you do that Ronald," she turned on him and barked, angry again. "Don't tell me to stay at the Burrow while you're running amok. Staying home makes our house a fat target. Going to Hogwarts makes me a sitting Niffler. Mum and Dad may be blood traitors, but if we're not around, then Mum and Dad can say we ran away and the Death Eaters won't consider an attack without good reason. I'm going to help Neville and Luna and Harry and so are you."

Ron stared at her for a long minute, his eyes questioning as he scanned his sister's determined expression. "I couldn't stop you when you barged in that classroom to join us in the Department of Mysteries. I don't think I can stop you now." He spoke sullen and resigned, but didn't shy away from her. She pulled him into a hug, burying her face in his familiar scent, ignoring the pulse of his veins beneath his skin.

"Look at the bright side," she murmured. "At least Mum won't be driving us spare, worrying if Bill's wedding is actually going to happen now."

If their chuckles and giggles were a little bit hysterical, neither mentioned it.

* * *

_**July 15th, 1997, 1812 hours** _

Hermione Granger slammed back the shot of Firewhiskey, barely choking at the heady burn of alcohol down her throat, the sensation of cinnamon and fire tingling her lips. Mouth puckered, she let out a gusty breath and watched the thin stream of purple fire in grim amusement, as it flickered forth from her tongue with a _whoooosh_ of hot flame.

 _Wizards and witches are so dumb and so ingenious at the same time,_ she mused, sliding the empty shotglass across the grimy bar. _If they could only be forced to grasp cause-and-effect, maybe our society wouldn't be such a fucking mess._

She considered Firewhiskey an easy example. It was the Wizarding UK's favorite drink-but no one ever really stopped to think about _why_ everyone loved it. _Too bad, they might have learned something._ Marketing was fairly poor, and with the exception of Ogden's, few people even knew there were other brands available for retail. On the other hand most pubs and restaurants didn't actually serve Ogden's, since the brand's richer, more heavily aged varieties were simply too expensive. Alcohol was good and people always craved more of it, but that only amounted to a small piece of the reason why Firewhiskey in particular was so successful. After all, there were a half-dozen other varieties of magical whiskey, flavors of spiced rum far sweeter and sharper than anything muggles could drink, dry gin with fizz bubbles that tasted like candy, and so on.

No, the real reason everyone loved Firewhiskey was _**the heat**_. The burning enchantment infused the whiskey itself and synergized with the sensation of alcohol in the esophagus. The body reacts to alcohol by dilating the blood vessels, giving an illusion of false warmth, but this drink would do so _and_ generate additional heat without consuming energy. It could actually warm you up. The sweetness combined with the husk of the liquor, and the spicy cinnamon scent combined with pure fire, these were the reasons the drink was so loved. Spiciness - now that one was fun. Try explaining to wizards that spicy wasn't actually a taste, but a chemical reaction of pain. Anyone who likes spicy food is, in essence, simply expressing a taste of sadomasochism.

Hermione could almost imagine their faces as she tried to explain basic science to magicals in terms that would certainly offend their 'delicate' sensibilities. The truth was simple. Magicals enjoyed the pain and the flavor within Firewhiskey in both the psychological and physical aspects, even if they never acknowledged it. Altogether it created a masterpiece of a drink, meant to burn and invigorate the tongue, washing away all your fears and hates and angsts and leaving only a burning courage, and thorough satiety of the gut. All the more shame that they refused to think it through-imagine what more could be done if its properties were used as a potion ingredient, or even to create other sensation-based beverages for specific purposes…

_Ugh, you're off on a tangent again._

_A nice example though, certainly._ Hermione thought to herself, watching the old, unkempt wizard pour her a third shot. She let it sit there, leaving it aside in favor of nursing her mead. It was only shortly after 6, and the Knockturn Alley pub had filled up rapidly with a dinner crowd. She'd left her parents earlier in the day, unable to face them any longer. They'd talked for hours upon hours, her father telling her things about herself she had never known, and was still trying to assimilate. But when she received the letter from Harry's cheeky borrowed owl, she knew she had to get away and needed the space. They had grudgingly agreed to let her go. After several confused and tearful goodbyes she'd left to go shopping. In Knockturn Alley, of all places.

She wanted to go to the darker, seedier allegory of Diagon. On her shopping list were several rare items to be purchased under the radar, perhaps a few books, as well as any secondhand information about the goings-on of the magical UK. She'd picked up the _Prophet_ with Harry's scowling face plastered on the front, and had gotten sidetracked by the enormous sign for the White Wyvern **(A/N below).** After visiting a shop or two, sauntering around with her hood tight around her head, she eventually caved. Pining for _just one_ drink after the roughest day she could remember, she'd walked in, crashed in a dark corner, and ordered herself a pint of mead. It had very rapidly become more than just that.

Hermione took a sip from the bottle in her fist, pondering as cloying citrus, burning alcohol, and honey-sweetness slipped across her tongue. Harry's letter had sheepishly explained that he'd asked Neville, Luna, and Ginny to come with their little crew. _He wrote a bit like a kicked puppy_ , she recalled with an amused grin. His quill practically begged across the page, explaining why he'd threaten their hunt for the Horcruxes by bringing in more kids. Their friends had all come under assault within the last few days. Harry, being the helpless boy-hero-idiot he was, had felt his "saving-people-thing" kick in and couldn't resist asking them to join their quest. She couldn't manage to be surprised, and didn't think she minded all that much. Ginny in particular had been "transformed" into something, apparently. _That part stung._ Hermione snorted to herself, thinking about her own transformation, the inhuman eyes and sharp-tipped ears that _had_ to be hidden wherever she went. Bitterly she crushed down her twinge of annoyance at her friends, at _Harry._ After all, they didn't know what was going on with her. She wished they did, but instinctively wasn't ready for it. This was beyond her mind, too many things to think about. She wanted it to stop. Another gulp blurred away her thoughts, as she allowed the glass to fall with a _clunk_ against the wood. The light buzz settled into her mind.

A few of her questions had already been answered. The first and most important to her was the simplest: how had she never suspected the truth? Her father had responded blandly by showing her a little vial of blood covered in strange runes, explaining a bloodmagic binding that separated her elvish traits from the human ones. Hermione had practically shrieked in anger as she stared at the little glass test tube, howling on about how such magic was dark and illegal according to Ministry law. Her real concern over the legality of the act was minimal. She was however almost _spitting_ in rage to know that her parents had gone so far as to actually take her blood as an infant and bind her heritage, and by extension, her _genetics and existence_ , under the _pretense_ of keeping her safe. Richard Granger had just fixed her with a disappointed glare that was infinitely more scary from his now-inhuman visage.

 _Consider it._ He'd spoken sternly, like a kindly professor dismissing a wayward student's point of view. _You were the one who came to us as a fifth year, ranting about discriminatory laws against magical sentients such as Veela and Werewolves and House Elves. How much of the magic you consider 'dark' was similarly declared to be so, simply due to prejudice? Because it was invented by other races before theirs, and mankind simply corrupted it more? Humans are so arrogant, believing they can control magic usage to prohibit what they refuse to understand. Is it not the truth, that people fear what they do not understand? We did what we had to do to protect you, even from yourself._

She _had_ thought about it, after calming down, her unsettled magic no longer ready to demolish part of the house. Hermione listed all the alternatives on a piece of paper, weighing their pros and cons. From disguising potions to glamour charms, even human transfiguration and secrecy binding charms, she'd considered all the options and recognized the universal problem. Each one could be canceled through accidental magical interference, or had to be periodically reapplied regardless of that. She would have been in constant danger. The bloodmagic had bound her second nature away, permanently, until it was released. Grudgingly, she agreed that it was the safest method she could currently think of. It still made her skin crawl, being bound by her blood against her will.

Hermione asked a battery of other questions, and she'd learnt about herself. She would be stronger and faster than she had been as a human. Her magical channels would become more capable of funneling larger amounts of magic at once. Her magical core would be stronger, wilder and chaotic, less in-tune with the rigid structure of spell-and-wand wizard magics and more like the wild magics found in magical beasts and tales of the druids and natural phenomena. The color of her eyes was supposedly important, but no matter how she cajoled, her dad wouldn't tell her squat about what her newly amethyst-purple irises meant for her.

And then there were the questions she wanted to ask, but just couldn't _._ Couldn't manage to open her mouth and say the words, for fear of how the response might crush her worldview all over again. Questions like, _What does the prophecy say? Does it have to do with Harry's prophecy?_ Worse still- _What happens if a human sees my face?_ That was one that she couldn't bear to ask, dreading the answer in so many ways she couldn't enumerate all her reasons to be afraid. _Is this why other kids think I'm smart?_ That one tore at her consciousness like a wildfire. She couldn't stop it, the disgusting weakness in her self-esteem, the reason she had worked so hard since she was just 11 years old. Hermione wanted to prove she was a witch. She'd be smarter than them all, worthy of the gift of magic, to become somebody valuable to her peers. But aside from her close friends, they'd called her _know-it-all, insufferable, mudblood, bint, batty, bitch._ Did they really know more than her? Did they feel it in their minds, that her appearance was only skin-deep, that she was something _other_ in their midst? She would be stronger than them, different, always on the outside...

 _Umbridge and half the Snakes would've called me a filthy half-breed._ The thought is partly-disgusted, partly-satisfied. _She would've hated me so much, even more than she did. Toad would probably try to have me Kissed if she found out, then ship my body off to the Department of Mysteries._ Hermione chugs _one-two-three-four_ little gulps of the mead, letting out a little burp into her sleeve, failing to retain dignity. _Whatever._

The White Wyvern may have been a Knockturn Alley pub, but it did have a reputation. It was the well-known neutral ground, where no one would _dare_ attack anyone else. Hermione had only heard about it in tales from older students talking far too loudly in the Hogwarts library. The alley may be a dangerous place, but this pub was the one of the safest spots to be. Grievances were aired at the door and kept there. Whoever had built the place put up intent wards on a ridiculous scale, strong enough to vaporize a giant on the spot (apparently someone _had_ tested it, Merlin knows how). As such it was a good place to just sit and relax without fearing for your safety or your pockets. Not only that, but it was a good place for spies. After all, no one was allowed to kill on the grounds. All people of all races were served openly in this pub, and no one cared if you wanted to stay hidden or disguised. That was one thing about some of the darker underbellies of society that Hermione appreciated-they were significantly less discriminatory, and they knew better than to pry. At the very least, it was because there was a different set of rules while playing around in the dirt.

Hermione looked up from her drink, scanning the dimly lit bar. Many of the booths and tables had filled up with patrons, drinking and eating. The ambience wasn't as loud and boisterous as the Leaky Cauldron used to be. It had a different feel to it. _Subdued, perhaps,_ she thinks. _Not disquiet, more an underlying vigilance._ Several customers have their hoods up, like her. Some sit together at booths, chatting quietly, probably putting up their own silencing charms as they talk about smuggling and certainly illegal businesses. Others still sit alone and covered, as she does.

It strikes Hermione at this moment; this is the first time she'd bought herself a drink. She wasn't a stranger to alcohol, but she didn't love it much either. Her first drink had been from George the night of the Yule Ball as a fourth-year, trying to forget the ruinous idiocy that had been Ron Weasley. Later, she'd certainly imbibed a few drinks after Quidditch games and such. After all the Gryffindors had to do _something_ for their late-night parties in the Common Room. It was just never something she'd thought about.

 _Is this a little taste of what it feels like, to be old?_ A chuckle nearly fell from her lips, but instead she twisted them into a sour grin.

The realization felt surreal. It's nothing like she had ever expected. Most other teenagers thought way too much about going out to party, going to go drink. It was a rather silly way to prove to oneself that they were now "grownups," but for all the people who touted it as some rite of passage, no one ever told her it could be like this. Hermione endured the melancholy even as she drained her third shot, no longer content with letting it just sit. She deserved better, she wanted to hear the clink of glasses together as friends and family shouted "cheers." She wanted genuine warmth in her heart and not flickering resentment over the quandary of her blood.

Instead of enjoying her life like a teenager, she was already practicing the art of hiding in plain sight. She was a fugitive from a group of mad terrorists, a target of convenience for a corrupt government, a member of a reclusive ancient race who'd probably end up on a dissection table. Here she put on a hooded guise and drank away her pain and frustration, rather than think too deeply about how far the world around her had already fallen.

"Are ya' wanting another one, lass?" The heavy burr of the Scot barman cuts through the downward spiral of Hermione's thoughts. She shakes him off, throwing a muttered " _maybe later_ " after him. Another sip of mead follows, and she flicks her wand against the bar to pull up a quick _tempus_ charm. It's getting late, she notices. Knockturn Alley stores had a tendency to be open very very late, due to some obviously nocturnal occupants, but she didn't like taking too much risk. Plus, it would be uncharacteristically stupid of her if she didn't plan far enough ahead to get at least _some_ of her shopping done.

Half-heartedly, she waves down the barman as he swings back around. "Can I order a bite, then?" Hermione muffles her voice to a timbre huskier than normal, just in case. The bearded fellow grunts in response, grabbing a little menu from somewhere and tossing it to her.

"Annie's 'bout ter come down, I'll send her o'er in a half a momen' f'r yer order." She nods and peruses the options before her, settling on the easiest thing she can find-bangers and mash. Momentarily she shuts her eyes, drowning her worries in the gentle cacophony of conversation swirling around her.

_Let's go over the shopping list...can't just forget something important now that I'm already here. First I should find out if anyone in the Alley sells wands, maybe see if I can establish a rapport and buy some illegal forearm-strap holsters…_

Wands were a ridiculously precious resource. Wizards and witches were so used to practicing magic with their wands starting from the age of 11 that most were entirely useless without them. This was a major deficit for herself and her friends. Ollivander was the only well-known wandmaker in the UK. He was also in captivity, presumably supplying the Death Eaters ever since his kidnapping last year. If Hermione or her friends lost or broke their wands, being unable to obtain another was practically a death sentence. She was sure the Dark Lord knew it. If another wandmaker was willing to work in the black market, it would be a life-saver for sure.

_Then after that, I need some brewing equipment, something easy to scale up or down. My old cauldron is shabby, and all the tools I'd use in Potions class belong to Hogwarts. A collapsible cauldron, perhaps. Weighing scales. A pestle and mortar, a set of knives...perhaps a book on healing potions if there's time. A book or two on High Elves and Soul Magic? Some of which are bound to be illegal…fucking Ministry._

Her musing is interrupted by a loud cheer from the front of the bar, causing her to jerk violently out of her thoughts and spill a couple drops of mead. Irritated, she glanced up, panning her head for the cause of the commotion. A couple of regulars were sitting together grinning like idiots, and one of them whistled wildly like he was at a Quidditch game. Hermione raised a disgusted eyebrow as her eyes took in the form of a _teenager_ , the object of their admiration _._ She was still a little incredulous as the new girl rolled her eyes cheekily and sidled in behind the bar.

 _The barman said Annie would take my order._ Something further clicks in Hermione's mind, a detail she's unconsciously observed but hasn't quite figured out yet. The waitress has her hair in a long braid to the side, her hair a light shade of blonde twisted in with much darker, dyed chocolate strands. _There's something eerily familiar about her._ She watches the girl mix a spiked Gillywater with practiced dexterity. With the reception she got from the regulars, and that sort of mixing skill, there's no way she was a new employee. There was a good chance Hermione had seen her before, but obviously never around here. So why did it feel like she knew exactly who she was looking at?

It wasn't until the girl pulled her wand that Hermione felt the tickle of deja vu intensify, and she began to try and identify the wood in her target's grasp. She stared at the wand carefully; it was a mildly dark wood, not nearly a dark ash color like Walnut, not reddish-brown like cherry or mahogany. She paused her train of thought for a moment. _Is it almond tree wood?_

The waitress flicked her wand and silently levitated a bunch of dirty dishes behind her, and the movement seemed familiar. Hermione stiffened, feeling a slap of recognition hit her memory all in one instant...

_...She dodged the orange jinx that nearly hit her head, throwing her own hex at the blonde across from her. It was no surprise that her spell fizzled away harmlessly on a light shield charm. No time to hesitate. Swinging her wand forward like a lasso, she mutters quickly, '_ _**incarcerous, bombarda** _ _.' Her opponent grins, keeping their wits, not hesitating to cancel the shield in favor of summoning a dummy from the side of the room, allowing it to eat both spells. The quick trio of returned spells that flew at her was almost too much, but her shields held. Hermione wasn't one to be outdone so simply. 'Lumos solem! Expelliarmus!' She caught the wand after a blinding bright flash blasted through the room. The members of the DA clapped around her. Her opponent is on her arse and throws a mocking pout, a Hufflepuff girl with auburn-red hair pulls her housemate up to stand. Hermione smiles as she tossed the wand back to her student, her friend. "You're getting better! Nice thinking with the dummy. Well done…"_

"...Hannah Abbott!?"

Hermione realized belatedly that she'd very nearly hissed her surprise out loud, and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could do anything even more stupid. Stunned, she tried to reconcile the figure before her with the girl she knew. The Hufflepuff had been an excellent student in the DA, second in her entire house only to the valkyrie duelist that was Susan Bones. She was kind, shy, hard-working, calm, brilliantly loyal, and was a good partner in classes. Hermione had fought her personally for a while and spent many an evening with her, and had enjoyed helping her out with spell variety and the basics of movement. Hannah's mother was found murdered in her house in fall '96. Hermione still remembered that morning when the poor girl was pulled out of class by a harried and despairing Professor Sprout. Both she and Susan, _the_ famous Hufflepuff duo, had lost their closest living family members within months of each other.

Now, here was Hannah, barely of age, sashaying about as a waitress in a Knockturn Alley pub. _Hiding in plain sight._ Hermione marveled at her tactical considerations. Was she living above the pub now, officially on the run? Was Susan with her? They couldn't have picked a more interesting place to lay low. The disguise, too, was very well done. The face didn't look quite right, perhaps slight human transfiguration. Her nose was thicker, and her chin was sharper. Her frame appeared just a tad more thin, her eyes were the wrong color, her cheekbones were higher, and her dark braided hair finished off the look. On the surface, she barely looked anything like Hannah Abbott, the cheerful Hufflepuff, at all. Only her voice and her wand gave it away. She'd completely fallen into the role of Annie, the pub waitress, shepherd of ale and smooth-talking heart of the room. Hermione was fascinated as her former classmate handled several drinks and flirty wizards with ease, and paused for a quick talk with the barman. She stiffened as she watched Hannah pull out a little self-inking quill and a pad of paper, obviously coming over to take orders.

_What do i do what do i do whatdoido_

"Can I take your order, ma'am?" There is no remaining doubt that it is Hannah standing before her now. The voice makes it obvious enough to any close friend from Hogwarts, but no one in the crowd here would ever recognize her. Hermione just dipped her hood awkwardly, trying to avoid opening her mouth and stammering out her surprise and jumbled thoughts. Instead she just picks up the menu and points out the bangers and mash with her finger.

She almost snorts; Hannah is so used to the strange customers of the White Wyvern that the wordless response doesn't phase her. The former 'Puff simply raised an eyebrow, and jotted it down diligently, not so much as showing a twitch of facial muscle or a comment otherwise. "Anything else?" Hermione finally manages to find her voice, coughing awkwardly before spitting out a hoarse "No thank you, darling," trying to keep her head down.

"No problem, that'll be out in a few minutes!"

Hermione doesn't look up until the booted footsteps pass. Her eyes are curiously following Hannah's back, her mind thinking of any way she could send messages to the other girl without an owl. It would do no good to actually confront her now, so she'd have to give her something to carry with her.

The solution is fairly obvious. She distinctly remembers placing the Protean Charm on the DA's fake Galleons. It had been quite the brilliant system. Hannah would know exactly how to use them too. She nibbled her lip, thinking furiously: _If I make the charm two-way we should each be able to transfigure messages onto each other's coins. Could I do it here, though? There might be too many people around. Magic inside my bag should be untraceable. I'll give it a try._ She looked around and lowered her head, fishing in her little purple handbag bag for some Galleons. Even though the bag was charmed with an Undetectable Extension charm, she was still lucky enough to have a separate little pouch for coins, close to the brim.

The two coins jingled in her left hand as she balanced the little wool-knit purse on her knees, hiding it under the bar as she shoved her wand-hand into the bag, the tassel on the brim nearly reaching her elbows. Gritting her teeth, she rummaged around for a few seconds, trying to get her wand-tip touching the metal of the coins. _Almost there..._ then finally she felt her fingers and the wood connect. She drew them out of the way, breathing in deeply and focusing on the incantations.

" _Próteios desmós...défteros desmós...próteios desmós...défteros desmós..._ " She chanted quietly, muttering the spells into the side of her hood. The magic tingled across her fingertips for a moment, surprising her into a sharp _jerk_ of shock. The bottle of mead wobbled as she nearly smacked it to the floor with her elbow. Nervously she looked around next to her to make sure no one noticed, trying to ignore the tingling in her fingers. A quiet hum of magic, like electrostatic, settled between the two coins. Experimentally, she wiggled them in her hand and pulled them out to inspect them, tossing them out. They _jingled_ on the bartop. She focused on one, transfiguring the year to 1997, tapping it with her wand. A tiny tinkle of magic flickered across her other hand, and she looked to see that both of them had changed. With a small grin, she tucked it in her jeans.

_Success. But what was with that sensation, like I was actively feeling the magic? There was no difference between this cast and every other time I used the protean charm, except that I performed it twice. That's not a significant increase in concentrated power. My magical senses have never been that capable, and most people have no such skill anyway because it's related to core size and control. The last time I felt magic actively was in the duel between Voldemort and Professor Dumbledore in the DOM. How could I….?_

Then she mentally froze, her mind thundering to a halt. The difference was _herself._ Until now, her blood had been used to bind her body to a false human form, thus binding her magical core as well. Dad had literally told her about the strengthening of her core, but to feel it like this was rather terrifying.

Logically, she knew that her life, her understanding of the world, and even her goals might be altered, all because of the revelations her family had unceremoniously dumped on her head. To a wizard or witch, however, even though the magical core matured alongside a person's body, it was largely immutable. To feel the core change, becoming more powerful and flexible, was like suddenly achieving the eyesight of a hawk or a canine sense of smell. It was the sixth sense, as well as an ability to harness, and to feel it shift was violently startling. She finally realized her jitters and nerves throughout the day had been caused by all the new brushes of magic, her body not yet ready to control the sense that seemed to reach out to others on its own accord.

_Bugger, guess I have to learn Occlumency._

The hundreds of new possibilities and the panicking emotional stress caused her to drain several fat gulps of the honey-sweet mead as she stared off into space. Uncouthly, she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She had tons of factors to think over. Would this become stronger over time? How would she learn Occlumency? Were there books on it? What about books on elves in general? Would she have to learn the way Snape had tried to teach Harry? Who would she trust to read her mind? She couldn't-what if they found out about her being a...not human? _Fuck, I can't even say it._

"Here's your food! Enjoy, let me know if you need anything at all." The cheerful voice interrupts her panicked reverie.

It's all Hermione can do to hold back a scream of surprise. She almost jumps as the plate is set down before her, and she can't do anything other than nod in Hannah's direction, trying to hold back tears. She coughs a little and picks up the fork, shoveling food into her mouth. With effort and some tasty sausages, her mind clears a little.

 _Napkin._ She thinks, grabbing one from a dispenser on the bar. Shoving the tip of her wand into her purse, she thinks _Accio Self-inking quill,_ ignoring the icy-hot sensation of magic channeling through her body, catching it in her fist as it floats out from the bag. She thinks on her message further, shoveling food into her mouth. Finally she settles on a quick few sentences, and a reassurance. She signs her initials on it and wraps one galleon into the napkin's folds. The other one is for herself.

She writes a few words on top. "Don't read this in front of others," it says, like a sleazy wizard writing a love-note. She folds it up next to her plate, heart thumping as she tries to consider what to do next. When the plate of food is gone and she realized there hadn't been time to eat lunch today, the hilarity and panic seem to mix together, giving her the bizarre urge to laugh out loud like a lunatic. _Look at me, writing secret notes and passing along messaging devices like I'm James fucking Bond. Ian Fleming would get a kick out of this shit._

She almost jumps with joy as Hannah saunters back wearing a dainty little apron. The girl raises an eyebrow at her already cleared plate. Hermione swigs the bottle of mead again, standing up and dropping several galleons on the counter to show that she was paying. "Keep the change," she rasps from under the hood. The semi-familiar face of the waitress beamed. "Thank you for coming, have a nice night!"

Hermione nods, keeping the bottle in one hand and tucking her handbag into her robes. She steps left-right, closer, closer, just barely brushing against her…

...and slips the napkin and the Galleon into the pocket of her apron, walking on smoothly and taking another swig from her mead as if nothing happened.

She chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye. Hannah clearly noticed _something_ being dropped into her pocket by the stranger, but other than a quick quizzical glance, says nothing. Hermione just nods at her and stalks out of the pub, door jingling shut behind her, bottle of mead still in hand, out into the grimy open air.

_At least none of the dark wizards in Knockturn Alley would ever believe goody-two-shoes, brightest-witch-of-her-age, the mudblood Hermione Granger, was walking around their turf in plain sight, looking like a half-drunken half-breed, passing notes to the Light while shopping on the run._

She snorted, rolled some more mead around her tongue, and kept on walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And that's that. Feel free to drown me in reviews. I've cranked out several pages for CH 5, Harry and the others will have to sort out some obstacles as they come back together.
> 
> The White Wyvern pub mentioned here is not an original creation and does sort of exist in extended canon (it gets mentioned in that new phone game I think, and it has a sign in one of those theme park Harry Potter areas run by Universal Studios). The name itself is cool and I added a little bit of mythos to it. In canon we don't have a lot of names of shops in Knockturn Alley besides Borgin and Burkes, so in the future if I don't make something up from scratch, I might be doing the same thing as I am right here, where I take a name I find already exists and then flesh it out.
> 
> Story so far has been moving pretty slow, which I've mostly been going for, though once our heroes get together they'll learn that they're still in the frying pan and have yet to jump into the fire.
> 
> New spell in this chapter. Well, not new, I just gave a canon spell some incantations. Here's the definition anyway:
> 
> Próteios/défteros desmós - Protean Charm. Incantations bind two objects together as "first" and "second," where the changes (usually Transfigurations) in one are immediately reflected in the other. Etymology reflects the spell's purpose, named after Greek deity Proteus, a shapeshifter, and derived of the same roots as "proteins," a flexible biomolecule that uses sturdy bonds amongst its constituent parts to help maintain its shape.  
> .  
> .


	5. Interlude - New Homes, Old Haunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns that he doesn't know everything about Hogwarts, not just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I split this apart from the rest of the content that's coming up next chapter. There's some necessary elements here but not a whole lot of plot action going on, so I decided to call this an interlude and mould it into its own little half-chapter. Mostly just using this to establish some basic stuff that'll be useful throughout the rest of our crew's time in hiding at Hogwarts.

**CH - Interlude - New Homes, Old Haunts**

_**July 15th, 1997, 1113 hours** _

Harry Potter stared at the four long and empty tables in the Great Hall, running his fingers through messy locks. After writing the four letters and sending them off, he'd spent nearly two hours skimming through the myriad books in Dumbledore's little library. Hermione had already nabbed most of the relevant Horcrux-related books that had been left behind last year. Nevertheless, he had scoured the shelves, wondering if there was anything else of use. The old Headmaster's portrait was only too happy to help, often falling into long-winded tangents about where he'd found the rare works, or lecturing about obscure topics Harry had never even heard of. Some of the comments were interesting, and it was obvious the man had been a good teacher back in his day. Sometimes though, the painting would get this euphoric look, and his long-winded soliloquies were simply dreadful. Harry almost shuddered, remembering the dreamy expression on the old man's face when he'd happened to pick up a copy of _Battle Transfiguration from the Roman Empire_. It was like talking to Hermione, but _wayyyy_ worse.

Still, he'd picked up a few interesting books and thrown them in his trunk. Then he'd set about, idly wandering the castle and thinking up vague ideas. He'd spent some time peering off the edge of the Astronomy Tower, looking into the dark woods of the Forbidden Forest. He wandered the endless corridors, and slid down the ever-shifting bannisters for some mild amusement (to the vehement chagrin of the nearby portraits). It occurred to Harry as he did so, that he'd need a place for his friends to stay. There was no need for them to occupy each of the House Common Rooms and dorms - it would be a waste of space. It wasn't as if there were classes to attend. Plus, he wasn't quite ready to fully trust Snape.

Harry began to think as he sat down at the long Gryffindor table. _He wouldn't sell us out, but...If it's somehow discovered that we're inside the castle, he'll be forced to talk. Even then, there could be visitors: envoys from the Ministry, Governors of the Hogwarts Board, even new professors maybe. He might be Headmaster, but he doesn't have the heavy-handed control of the school that Dumbledore did. That only leaves secret rooms…_

Hogwarts had no shortage of secret passages and rooms. Most of the passages, however, were useless. Dumbledore had probably asked Sirius and Remus to tell him and other Aurors within the Order about the locations of the passageways. Snape knew about them too, and as such, even if Voldemort hadn't discovered them all as a student, he would certainly become aware of them all now. Anyways, the caved-in passage that Fred and George had told him about years ago might be big enough to hold them all, but the rest were simply too small. That only really left two options. The Room of Requirement and the Chamber of Secrets. Both of which weren't exactly perfect options.

The Chamber of Secrets was only accessible by Riddle and Harry, and they both knew it. However, the Dark Lord would never believe that his prophesied nemesis would be hiding under his nose (if he had one) in the very same place he'd made his first kill. It was certainly big enough to house six people, but it wasn't exactly fit to live in. The giant snake carcass was the biggest problem. It wouldn't have decayed, though. Harry knew just enough about wild magic and XXXXX-class beasts to know even their corpses could remain in stasis for upwards of hundreds of years. It just wasn't exactly going to be pleasant work to try and remove it, or strip it down for ingredients. He had no idea if he would even be able to move it an inch. Plus, it was probably still violently poisonous, and definitely unpleasant to be around.

No, even besides the basilisk, the chamber was cold and damp, filled with old bones and slime and centuries of dust and decay. Plus he hadn't exactly explored the full Chamber. He highly doubted Slytherin had left the Chamber just as a home for his giant pet. The basilisk had been able to access the piping system, and probably also had access to several of its own passages. On top of that, there might be other traps and artifacts that Voldemort had left behind in that place, or even remnants of Slytherin's protections. It was certainly worth exploring at length, but not at all worth living in. Simply too nasty, and too much of a risk.

_The Room of Requirement, on the other hand, is nearly perfect_ , Harry thought. Voldemort had definitely known about that too, and if the sheer mountain of rubbish in Room of Hidden Things was any indication, plenty of people in Hogwarts' illustrious history had come across it and learnt its secrets. Hell, even the younger Malfoy knew about it. But the blonde ferret had also proven something very important: that if the user desired, he could prevent others from accessing it. Harry's only real questions surrounded the Room's limitations.

The Room couldn't create food out of nothing. This wasn't exactly a problem. The House Elves knew about it, and with their uncanny ability to pop through Apparation Wards, they could certainly appear if Harry and his friends were ever forced to seal themselves inside. That brought up another problem. Even if Death Eaters couldn't get into the Room, they could certainly barricade it from the outside and block them in. Becoming imprisoned in his own secret hideout was a pretty stupid way to die. _The Room can create anything in its walls, but could it easily create passageways to other parts of the castle, or even outside of it?_ Harry pondered. That would instantly solve that problem. The Room couldn't create knowledge, either. The library was on the first floor, and the entrance to the ROR was on the seventh. Even if it could create a passage, Harry knew Hermione would probably throw a fit having to carry bags full of books back and forth.

It really boiled down to one straightforward question. Could the Room of Requirement affect Hogwarts as a whole? If yes, then it could probably copy books from the library, make passages of its own will, pull food from the kitchens, and so much more that Harry would never be able to brainstorm off the top of his head. It would take some playing around with the Room, something he'd never thought to sit down and do in the last two years. He sat up and hurried off, intent on reaching the 7th floor portrait of Barnabas the Barmy before lunch rolled around.

Huffing and puffing, Harry stood in front of said portrait not 10 minutes later. Once it had really sunk in that no one would be bothering him, he had run full-sprint through the castle. He'd rushed across the stones, taking the steps two at a time and hopping over the traps. He grinned easily, staring at the painting, watching in amusement as the mad wizard attempted to train a troll in a tutu how to dance. It was oddly peaceful running through the castle like that. He'd never really had occasion to do so before - _wait, no, that's completely wrong._ He amended wryly, _I've never run through Hogwarts without being afraid for my life or someone else's._

The door was before him, hidden, and he shook himself from that little mental moment and stepped toward the opposite, blank wall. He concentrated his wayward thoughts, visualizing the tall, iron-cast door that would soon appear in front of him. Slowly, he paced back and forth, his footsteps echoing like drum beats in his mind. _This had better work_ , he thought.

_I need somewhere hidden for us to stay. I need somewhere hidden for us to stay. I need somewhere hidden for us to stay._

The cast-iron door faded into existence before him, and with a shove he swung it open. It was a simple, cavernous room. Stained glass windows beamed light onto the stone walls and pillars, under which sat a large desk and a large easel holding up a fancy looking map. Hammocks hung from the pillars dozens of feet in the air, strung about almost haphazardly. Harry snorted as he looked at the rope ladders that fell to the floor from high up, trying to imagine climbing so far just to hop into a cot. No matter - if the Room could obtain cots, it could probably conjure up some beds.

He walked over to the table, recognizing it as being similar to the multitude of desks that could be found near the library. The large map hung up over the blackboard, to Harry's surprise, was a huge map of the castle and its surroundings, including a very detailed map of Hogsmeade roads and the Forbidden Forest. His eyes immediately catalogued nearly a dozen marked locations he'd never even heard of. He looked carefully at the map, noting the centaurs homeland marked as "Tribe of the Northern Winds" and even a long snaking tunnel into the Forbidden Forest that looked to come out from the Chamber of Secrets. The paper of the map looked very old and a bit crinkled, but it was incredibly useful. Perhaps he'd go explore later. He shrugged, sitting himself on the desk with a heave.

_Now for the passageways_. He frowned a little, considering, fingers drumming the wooden table. Never before had he tried to alter the Room of Requirement while he was still inside it. There was no reason it wouldn't work, he just didn't exactly know what to do.

_Well, might as well try the same thing as I did out there._ Closing his eyes, he began to focus, feeling both a bit stupid and a bit hopeful that this might work out.

_I need a passage to a safe place in Hogsmeade. I need a passage to a safe place in Hogsmeade. I need a passage to a safe place in Hogsmeade._

He opened his eyes and looked around, finding the Room utterly unchanged, and let out a sigh of disappointment. _Maybe it was too much to hope for_. His head dropped down to his feet. _Or maybe I don't know what I'm doing_.

A flash of movement out of the corner of his left eye startled him into movement. He jumped off the desk and whirled around to see…

...a portrait?

Harry hadn't even realized that he had drawn his wand until he saw the figure in the painting hiding her laughter behind her hand, giving him a pointed look with a raised eyebrow. He flushed slightly, muttering "yeah, yeah, laugh why don't you," before walking over to the new portrait on the wall.

For it was, in fact, new. It hadn't been in the room several seconds ago. Excitement rose in him as he realized that the Room of Requirement had really listened to him. He studied the portrait for a moment, some sort of recognition tickling at his mind. A blonde girl stood in the painting, wearing an old-world style dress amidst a lush forest of red pines and flowers. She couldn't have been more than 15 at most, her hair tumbling down messily to her waist. She smiled at him in a distant, vacant sort of happiness, her eyes a sparkling blue that shone like jewels.

"Er…" Harry stumbled over his words. "Sorry about pointing my wand at you, you startled me for half a moment, there. Are you covering the passage?" The girl nodded, her smile widening. She cocked her head to look at him, a knowing look in her eyes. Harry couldn't help but be slightly disconcerted, feeling as if he should know this person in the painting, but also as though he knew he wasn't making a mistake.

"Mind if I have a look? How should I open it?" He asked, politely. The portrait responded with an impish grin, and reached over towards the frame of its own painting. There was a sharp click, and the entire portrait swung off the wall, leaving a surprised Harry to stare at the carved stone stairs and a rough tunnel stretching away into darkness below. He let out a little _whoop_ of joy. It looked like this room would work out just fine! He swung the portrait back to look at her carefully.

"So you're here guarding this now, huh?" She nodded happily in response. "Great! I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you." She smiled and nodded again, her eyes wandering up to the scar on his head. "Oh, I guess you've heard of me then." He looked a little sheepish, and wondered idly exactly why he was conversing with a painting who wouldn't, or perhaps couldn't talk back.

"I don't suppose you can tell me exactly where in Hogsmeade this tunnel leads, could you?" the girl looked at him carefully for a moment, and her smile grew even further. She let out a little giggle, and leaned forward conspiratorially, like a little girl telling him a big secret. She whispered a few short words.

" _Big brother. Safe._ " She nodded, satisfied, and plopped down on the forest floor beneath her as Harry swung the portrait-hole shut. It was clear she wasn't going to tell him more, and was rather encouraging him to head down that way and see for himself. For some reason, he found himself trusting the painting he didn't know. The Room interpreted his needs and wants, after all, he mused. He wondered for a moment if the portrait was a creation of the ROR itself, or if it had somehow copied a portrait and placed it at the entrance.

He shook his head. "Alright, then, that's good enough for me," he said, looking at the little girl. "I'll take a look later, I'd like to try a few more things with the Room first before I explore down the passage. Thanks for this."

The girl smiled as he swung the portrait shut, giving him a look that felt something like _I'm not going anywhere_. He snorted and gave her a little grin, and turned back to the map and the desk.

The second part of his little test was summoning a book from the Hogwarts library. Easy enough. He gathered his thoughts and focused on one particular book from the Restricted Section he'd opened up years ago with his two best friends.

_I need the copy of Moste Potente Potions. I need the copy of Moste Potente Potions. I nee-_

_**THUMP!** _

"Shit!" Harry yelped like a frightened baby, jumping off the desk. Behind him the familiar book apparently had just been dropped out of the air, and slammed into the desk while he'd been busy thinking to summon it. "Well," he muttered aloud, inspecting the book that still looked suspiciously like it was bound in human skin, "that worked decently enough."

But he wasn't done, not by a long shot. It was the painting that made him realize his thinking was far too small. He could name specific books and have them brought to him, no matter if they were restricted or not. He could create a passage to Hogsmeade at whim. The painting, however, meant the room had interpreted his desires to not only give him the passage itself, but also a guardian who he could somehow _feel_ was trustworthy. There was a small chance he was losing his mind, of course. But Harry, ever impulsive, had an itchy inkling that far more could be done within the boundaries of the Room of Requirement.

He closed his eyes and banished all the thoughts from his mind. He focused on the prophecy, on Voldemort, on the blank eyes of Cedric, on Sirius being blasted off his feet, on Dumbledore tumbling down, down, down…of his parents final screams on that Halloween so many years ago.

Then he thought of his friends, his family. Hermione chewing on a quill in the library, her nose practically rubbing in the books, frizzy hair surrounding her like a halo. Ginny grinning at him like a loon as the sharp _pop_ of Exploding Snap nearly burned off her eyebrows. Ron with his face flushed, broom clutched in his fist, staring up in bemused awe at crowds howling _Weasley is our King!_ Neville throwing spells like a madman, a stern look on his face as he stood his ground bravely. Luna with a dreamy and sad smile, petting a Thestral in gentle strokes and braiding its mane while whispering cooing words.

_I need a room where we can become as strong as we were meant to be._

_I need a place where we might learn to protect what we love._

_I need a sanctuary, for shelter when we are hunted._

He waited for a moment, hesitant, wondering if his little plea had meant anything to the magic around him.

Nervously, Harry opened his eyes, and couldn't help but let out a sharp gasp of pure shock at the brand new Room.

In the corner, the girl in the portrait began to giggle in wonder and glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for today! CH 6 is a little less than 3k words in, so hopefully I'll be bringing that to you soon.
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	6. Barefoot with Snakes in the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes find that sneaking into Hogsmeade isn't quite as easy as it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Chapter 6! By the time this gets thrown up, I'll have started working on Ch 7 a bit, so hopefully I can get that done soon. College is starting up again, but with the pandemic and all still in full swing I probably will only be delaying a little. But I figured I'd let people know.

_"Don't you see? Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress?_

_All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back!"_

_-Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

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_._

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** CH - Barefoot with Snakes in the Grass **

_**July 15th, 1997, 1930 hours** _

Neville Longbottom popped into existence with a sharp _crack_ , and immediately froze in terror, his heart pounding.

He'd done the whole Destination, Determination, and Deliberation thing, aiming for Gladrag's Wizardwear. The hooded robes on his back and the dirty clothes underneath were very nearly the only belongings left to his name. Luckily, he managed to find a couple pairs of pants and a sweatshirt that hadn't burned down with the house. He'd been intent on getting some shopping done before sneaking off to the Shrieking Shack tonight.

However, halfway through the standard feeling of being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste, Neville felt himself rebound. As if he'd landed on a trampoline, he felt the air in front of him bend, and then _snap_ back, sending him somewhere not too far off, nearly throwing him to his knees. He opened his eyes to see himself near the outskirts of the village, surrounded by the red-trimmed robes of the Auror Corps. And nearly screamed.

It took him a moment of ice-cold shock before he realized no one was looking at him at all. Forcibly he unclenched his fist, letting out a deep breath as he looked around. Several were clearly not standard Aurors, kneeling or surveying the land. Others stood guard around them, watching for sabotage in pairs of two. An old witch apparated in behind him, and she looked confused for a moment before shrugging off and heading toward Hogsmeade proper. Neville looked off to the side to see a group of three Aurors placing small stones on the ground, drawing on them with their wands.

_I must have bounced off Apparition wards._ The realization begins to dawn on Neville. _Thank Merlin's saggy pants, it's still in progress, if they already had a checkpoint ready I'd be dead or thrown in Azkaban._ He stepped forward and began to walk down the street, noticing a Ministry sign on the nearest lamppost, and headed over to read it.

_**"MINISTRY ANNOUNCES DECREE: ZERO-TOLERANCE HOGSMEADE CURFEW, 10PM-5AM. VILLAGE TO BE PLACED UNDER APPARITION WARDS AND CATERWAULING CHARMS. TWO PUBLIC APPARITION POINTS WILL BE AVAILABLE. FULL POLICY TO GO INTO EFFECT ON JULY 17."** _

Neville practically felt his indignance rising as he read the sign. _Zero-tolerance_ , he snorted. _Another way of saying, try to sneak something into Hogwarts, and you're in Azkaban faster than you can say 'Umbridge.'_ He really hoped Harry had a plan for all this, otherwise they all might be stuck in the castle for much longer than they wanted.

The occupants of Hogsmeade would be furious, though quite likely they never really liked the Death Eaters anyway. As he walked down the streets he pondered the long faces and cloaked figures moving around weakly. He remembered being 13 years old, and how cold and jittery the place seemed with Dementors floating around looking for Sirius Black. It was worse now, somehow, and there weren't even monstrous soul-sucking beasts to enforce it.

_All these people, beaten down into submission by power._ Neville thought, grimly. _It's not right._ Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how many of them would've helped out the Order of the Phoenix, given the chance. How many would jump to it, given what they now knew, having tasted the acrid flavor of the "new wizarding order?" It was a bitter thought.

At the moment it was all he could do to remain calm as he walked, and not apparate away. He walked stiffly down High Street, making sure his eyes remained painted to the cobblestone sidewalk. There was none of the laughing conversation that filled the village every time he came to visit, none of the happy atmosphere that made it feel like home. Zonko's lights were off as his mechanical steps carried him past. A small sign posted on the glass read: "Closed Until Next Week." His stomach twisted, discomforted as he snatched glimpses of the people and buildings around him.

Never before had he regretted not qualifying to take NEWT Transfiguration as much as he did right now. If he could switch up his face with someone else's or transform his own features, he wouldn't have to worry about anyone pulling down his hood. _Fat lot of good having dad's wand did for me,_ He thought, acridly. _Goddamnit Gran...I love you but you barely even let me take Charms._

Then he swore as a thought struck him, and nearly plowed into a witch bustling the opposite direction who shot him a venomous look. Collecting himself hastily, Neville muttered a nervous "Sorry 'bout that," as he ambled on, trying to remember Flitwick's lecture on glamour charms. It was one of the easier things in class, but the more magic he used in one single cast, the easier it was to undo. Long-lasting glamours had to be woven from the magic, not unlike lasting enchantments. If he tried to disguise his entire face on a whim, with his level of practice, Neville would probably only be able to maintain the spell for an hour, and maybe an additional half-hour at the most.

_Idiot, you should have done this before you apparated_ , he berated himself as he slipped into an alleyway, only two buildings away from the painfully visible lime green sign flashing "Gladrag's Wizardwear." He let out a shaky exhale, checking behind him as he angled his wand near his chin. _Deep breaths now. Careful. Visualize what you want to look like._

" _Dissimulo_ ," he whispered under his breath, spinning his wand in a clockwise circle around his face. Inch by inch, a warm-slimy feeling wrapped into place around his cheeks, pulling itself down around his chin and up into his hair. After a moment, the magic began to settle. He grimaced slightly, not enjoying the sensation of the sticky greenhouse humidity plastered to him as his lips twisted. _Guess that means it worked._

He stopped to check his reflection in the nearest window as he walked from the alley. Straw-blonde straight hair and thinner features stared back at him. His first thought about how to disguise himself was to look like an idiot pureblood-naturally the face of Zacharias Smith had come to mind. In better times, he'd probably laugh himself silly about looking anything like the spoiled berk. He threw on about 5 additional years of age and _ta-da_ , here was a functional magic disguise. It was fragile at best, downright risky at worst. He threw a quick _tempus_ at the wall to check the time. If it wore off before he was somewhere safe, he'd be shitting in a bucket in Azkaban.

The familiar clerk's tentative smile as he walked inside Gladrag's was enough to ensure that he was alright for now, and he managed to relax enough to return a weak grin of his own. Heart thudding like the footsteps of a troll, he made the fastest shopping trip he ever remembered. For a born-pureblood, that was definitely saying something. Practically making a beeline past crazy colors and laughable moving designs, he spent barely five minutes picking out robes. He eventually grabbed two shorter pairs, plain black and navy with hoods, and went ahead and splurged one dark grey winter cloak that looked extra comfortable. Who knows when he'd next get to step into a wizarding shop without getting cursed, after all.

" _Stay safe._ " He couldn't help a small whisper of support at the lost-and-terrified-looking employee as he tossed his galleons onto the counter. The careful look of amity and the slight nod in return were enough to ease his disgusted mood, if only for an instant. The jingle of the door hid his heavy sigh as he nudged it open, bag in hand.

Neville sighed, slouching as he walked to the outskirts of the village. _I'd kill for a quiet pint of butterbeer right about now…_

* * *

_**July 15th, 1997, 2002 hours** _

Luna Lovegood hummed a melancholy tune as she stalked slowly through Hogsmeade, adjusting the fake glasses on the bridge of her nose. Having concluded her extremely disturbing trip to Gringotts she'd thrown on a disguise and gone shopping for some new belongings. After all, it was fairly inconvenient that she'd lost everything, from her butterbeer-cap necklaces and dirigible plum earrings, to all her knickers and robes. More than that, it gave her time to think about the whispers from the Wrackspurts in her head: sorrow for the father she'd lost, apprehension of the new perspective she'd gained, and fear of the unfamiliar and dangerous world in which she had no home. Somberly, Luna wondered if someday she'd be back to rebuild the house.

_I'll make it taller, next time, and stronger. Then paint it yellow and purple and orange, and I'll dig a pond so we can watch the freshwater plimpies play. Daddy would've loved it._

When Luna raised a hand to wipe away the burgeoning tear in her eyes, she was almost startled by the darker tanned skin on her hand, before belatedly remembering the _Colovaria_ charm. There'd been a small article in the Prophet, near the crossword puzzles, detailing the upcoming "security" that would soon blanket Hogsmeade. She'd dyed her skin a fake tan and her hair was now dark brown and unnaturally straight. Uncomfortably, she shifted the glasses on her nose, which kept slipping every so often. They used to be Spectrespecs but since she didn't exactly need them to see Wrackspurts like everyone else, she decided to use them as a disguise. It wasn't nearly foolproof, but Luna knew it would work. If she couldn't imagine what Harry looked like without his iconic round glasses, no one would guess what she looked like with them.

It was still early for their meeting in the Shrieking Shack. Luna gazed for a moment at the weak light peeking from behind the dark grey clouds. It would be easier to sneak to the hill close to the castle under the guard of night. Apparition wards were unlikely to extend so far beyond the boundaries of the village, but she'd rather not take chances and get caught. There was time to grab some food, though. Thanks to her little jaunt in Goblin territory, she now carried an expandable pouch filled with quite a bit of gold. _No need to Confound another muggle passing near the Leaky Cauldron and steal his Quarter-Pounder_ , she thought, sagely. _He was probably quite put out when he got home._

Briskly, she turned a corner and began to walk over several blocks west off of High St, toward the Hog's Head. Luna's big eyes wandered over the diminishing pedestrians, watching as Wrackspurts seemed to hover over the street like a dark cloud. Some walked with stiff eyebrows, others with their eyes glazed or staring down into the ground. Some still whose heads swung on a swivel as if hunting for the first sign of trouble. One caught her eye, a large and almost clumsy boy who seemed to stumble onto the street, Wrackspurts practically fighting his mind. A twinge of _something_ elusive ran through her, and she focused on him as he walked. _Oh goodness, he must be quite nervous, she thought._

Cocking her head, she followed calmly in the trace of his steps, hoping to determine why her magic thought him familiar. Oddly enough, he looked quite like Zacharias Smith, except the Hufflepuff she knew wasn't nearly so tall. His gait and bearing weren't quite right either; the way this lanky boy walked had only little hints of the pureblood "poise" that seemed to be drilled into family heirs. Her eyes saw differently though, watching his magic batting away the Wrackspurts in his mind, the swirling coils deep in his core, a greenish-golden color that still hadn't fully grown. To her, there were still many hints of his strong presence. A smile spread across her face, and she guessed who was beneath the false face.

Luna hurried close as he turned to duck into an empty alleyway, throwing a look over his shoulder to check for pursuers. She watched the Wrackspurts practically flood him as they locked eyes, a burst of fear shining. Her disguised friend's wand was drawn even faster than she expected, the cherry wood glowing with yellow embers as he prepared to fling a hex. She threw up both hands, showing empty palms. Luna smiled, her grin slowly turning impish.

"You shouldn't let so many Wrackspurts into your head, you know," she admonished while stepping forward, pulling off her spectacles. "They'll turn your brains into a mushy pot of stale pudding if you're not careful."

The boy nearly dropped his wand, his eyes bulging and his mouth dropping to a surprised 'O.' Luna couldn't help but giggle as he visibly calmed himself before giving her a once-over.

"Luna?" The disguised Neville muttered in disbelief, his wand falling to his side. "Is that you?" She laughed then, giggling as she pulled Neville into a crunching bear hug that he returned after only a second's hesitation. Digging her head into his shoulder, she relished the warmth of his heart and the comfort of his arms.

"It's good to see you, Neville," her words muffled in the folds of his robes. "I was sorry to hear about your grandmother." He only tightened the hug for a moment, saying nothing for several seconds.

"Harry's note mentioned your dad too. Are you ok?" He asked, hesitantly. Luna just nodded slightly, pulling away and looking up at him.

"I…" she stuttered. "It hasn't been easy." She let out a gusty sigh and for the hundredth time that day, held back her tears. "Say Neville, I haven't eaten since I borrowed another McDonald's off a muggle this morning, and I'm getting hungry. Shall we go to the Hog's Head and get something to eat? The old barman won't sell us out, and we can talk privately."

Neville nodded confusedly, to Luna's amusement, looking slightly alarmed after hearing that she hadn't eaten. Then he frowned as he began to follow her, and his question sent her into peals of laughter.

"What's a MacDonny's or whatsit?…"

* * *

They walked into the Hog's Head a few minutes later, Luna following Neville as he held open the door. The dingy bar wasn't exactly full, but it had more patrons than she'd been expecting. The place was quiet, only a few calm and quiet conversations could be heard. The bell jingled as the door shut behind them. Next to her, Neville quailed slightly as a good number of people turned to observe them cautiously. Luna just smiled, relaxed. The barman had looked up from the grimy glasses he was cleaning. He gave them a piercing stare that seemed to last for several seconds, blue eyes staring them down. She waved at him with a grin. The man simply gave a grunt of acknowledgement, and went back to rubbing the glass with his rag.

"Hello, Aberforth," Luna spoke up as they treaded toward the bar. After the initial perusal none of the other patrons gave them a second glance, sitting amongst themselves. Aberforth looked up though, bushy grey eyebrows cocked.

"Nice hair," he said gruffly, the corners of his heavy beard twitching in amusement. Neville tensed beside her for a moment, but Luna laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Whaddya want?"

"Could we get two sandwiches and butterbeers please?" The barman shrugged, pulling out two bottles from under the counter. "A galleon and 7 sickles then." She pulled out the coins before Neville could protest and tossed them on the counter. "Sandwiches 'll be out in a minute." He said, slowly heading to the back.

She slid a bottle into Neville's hand, wiping off the rim of her own before cracking it open. He led them to a small table in the corner. As soon as they sat down he hissed out, unable to contain himself. "Nice hair? Did he recognize you?"

She shrugged. "Probably. Aberforth has very good eyes, and an even better memory. But he'll never help You-Know-Who. We're safe here, really." He sighed, but nodded at her surety. She was glad to see the trust in his eyes when he did. "You've never been wrong about anyone before," he said wryly. "I'll take your word."

"What happened Luna?" He asked the question suddenly, after a few moments of silence. "With your dad?"

She shook her head, choking back the lump in her throat and closing her eyes for a moment, the image of the destroyed rubble etched behind her eyelids. "I-I don't actually know," she stammered for a moment, her voice hoarse with the weight in her throat. "I went out to the river, to see the stars. I had a feeling something was wrong...and when I came back everything was gone."

Luna looked up, startled, when Neville's warm hand grabbed hers comfortingly. "At least you're ok. Your dad would want that." She smiled weakly, sipping her butterbeer to try vainly distracting herself so the Wrackspurts wouldn't make her lose her head. She looked back up at him. "I heard You-Know-Who came to your place," she whispered quietly, glancing around for eavesdroppers. A personal visit from _him_ was certainly nothing anyone around needed to hear about. "Are you alright? He didn't hit you with anything, did he?"

Neville grimaced. "It was a fight," he admitted. "They tore the wards down so fast, I've never heard anything like it. I was just practicing the stuff from the DA and then…" he thumped his fist on the table, just slightly. "He brought mostly just recruits, barely kids, I think. Half of them didn't even know how to fight. Gran and I took a bunch of them out. And You-Know-Who just stood there, watching it like it was _funny_." He shivered, and Luna squeezed his hand. "He got tired of it and blasted us on our arses. I guess Gran managed to sneak a portkey on me when I wasn't looking." Neville swallowed again, head bowed. "He was about to kill us, and Gran spoke a keyphrase, and then suddenly I was on a hill in a little greenhouse, watching them burn the place with Fiendfyre. And that was it."

He trailed off for a moment, hesitating, before looking up at Luna. She felt her tears rising again as she took in the lost look in his eyes, the Wrackspurts heaving at his mind, swirling dots of blue color banging against his thoughts. "What do we do now?" he muttered, swigging some of his drink.

She took a deep, shaky breath. "Harry said he has something he has to do. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm going with him." A shuffling sound drew their attention and they saw Aberforth levitating two plates, dropping the sandwiches on the table with a weak _thunk_. She smiled at him weakly as he stalked off, giving her a nod as he turned his back.

Neville grabbed his sandwich, scarfing down his first bite of real food in nearly a day. "What do you reckon it is?" He asked, curiously. Luna could tell he was trying to distract from reliving the experience of the last couple days, and she obliged.

She shrugged. "I don't know. But when it comes to Harry, if he needs to do something then it'll be very important." She swallowed down a small bite of her sandwich, enjoying the taste of bacon and lettuce, even if the bread wasn't the greatest. "That night when Professor Dumbledore was killed, Harry left the school with him, didn't he? That's why he was sure there'd be an attack, and we were all out patrolling. Whatever they left for-I'm sure that Harry will want to finish it for good."

"Blimey," muttered Neville weakly, taking a weak swig of his butterbeer. "I guess I knew that, somewhere in my head...but picking up where Dumbledore left off?" He shook his head as if clearing cobwebs from his mind, and Luna smiled slightly as the Wrackspurts buzzed and began to trickle out of his ears. "Do you think we really can?"

Luna took another bite of her sandwich and swallowed it, letting out a sigh as the silence spread between them, quiet and tense. She looked down at the plate, Seeing glimpses of different threads for a moment, before blinking and looking back up at her friend.

"Whatever it is," she said morosely, "I have a feeling that in the end, we won't have any other choice."

* * *

_**July 15th, 1997, 2045 hours** _

Ron Weasley stumbled as he appeared from thin air with a sharp _crack_ , dropping his sister's hand from his grasp. Nausea caught up to him after a second and he heaved, hands on his knees. Apparition was never his best trait. Ginny was faring a little better, immediately looking around with her wand drawn.

"Didn't you say you were going to apparate directly to the Shrieking Shack?" she said quietly, scanning the now-empty streets of the city of Hogsmeade. Instead of the old, broken-down cabin on a hill, they had popped in on the side of the village closest to the castle. It was fairly near to their target, but still at least a 10 minute walk.

"I tried, Ginny," he muttered as he stood up weakly, swaying for a second. His stomach did not like that. "It didn't work. It felt like I bounced off something and it shot me here." He drew his own wand, looking around. "Lucky us, the place is empty. And we've got these hoods."

"And who was it that brought up the robes?" Ginny snarked from his side, ignoring his weak glare. "Apparition wards, you think? Since when were they put up on the village?"

"Since the Death Eaters took over the Ministry, I reckon." Ron grumbled darkly, stepping forward. "Come on, let's stick to the darkness and head on over there. You can see and hear much better than me now, tell me if you notice anything wrong. Wands out. The Trace shouldn't work on you since I'm around, try not to cast anything just in case." Satisfied with her nod, they began to walk around, walking into the closest alleyway and trying to avoid the dimly lit street lamps.

Ron felt the hairs on his neck prickle as he took in the empty streets. No one dared walk around at night, it seemed. He gritted his teeth and mustered his way forward, glancing at his sister every now and then to make sure she was still behind him. _She'll notice if anyone's around. We're okay._

They stalked towards the edge of the village, jogging across the streets so they wouldn't spend much time in plain sight. The gloomy clouds overhead obscured the moon, and he could barely see anything save for dim blue-bell flames in the distance and the slinking of shadows as they moved through back alleys. For five minutes, all he could hear was his breathing and the _clacks_ of his shoes against the streets. His wand was clenched so tight in his knuckles that by the time he noticed, he was practically afraid it would break. He was about to step onto the street again when Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Ron practically jumped out of his skin in fright, but she put a finger to her lips, motioning him to shut up.

" _Two people coming this way, and two more are following behind them through an alley._ " She hissed at him, pointing her wand to the open road. " _We'll see them in a second._ "

Ron held his breath. Sure enough, two people stepped out onto the street a moment later. Two young people, a blonde man and a girl with dark hair. _They're practically the same age as us_ , he figured, as they looked around cautiously with their hands in their pockets. _They look vaguely familiar._

"Hey! You two!" A voice barked from down the street. Crimson cloaks swished as two heavily-robed figures stepped out into the street from a nearby alley, calling at the young couple. "What are you doing out at night?"

Ron could only watch as they turned in unison, bodies tensing as they took in the forms of two Aurors striding toward them with purpose. The newcomer had shouted and drawn his wand, but only had it leisurely pointed vaguely towards them. The Auror's faces were barely visible, covered in gloomy shadows, but it looked like they weren't anyone that he would recognize on sight. The other one seemed more calm than his partner.

"Lay off with the wand, Jenkins," the other man grunted. "They're just kids." He looked rather disgruntled.

"Minister's Orders, and you know it, Fields," replied the other. "Where are you two headed tonight?" He barked at the two students who had been giving each other looks during the exchange.

"We just wanted to sneak out and visit the Shrieking Shack you see." Ron started at hearing the familiar dreamy tone from the girl. He turned to his sister and found her eyes wide in shock. " _Luna!_ " he hissed at her, and Ginny could only nod, her eyes transfixed on the scene, her wand slowly rising. He tuned in to hear the rest of the conversation.

"We heard about the curfew and all in a couple days. It might be a long time before we get to visit at night and hear all the ghosts, you know?" Luna sounded utterly unfazed, smiling through her disguise. Next to her, the guy was holding her elbow tightly, and Ron began to guess who it was.

"Sorry, but you'll have to go home for tonight," drawled the calmer guy, now identified as Fields. "We're under orders to record identification of anyone we see wandering around. You're not in trouble or anything, we just need to see an Apparition license or somethin', no big deal."

The guy next to Luna let go of her arm, rummaging through the pockets of his robes. "Sure thing, Auror, I think I've got mine right about…here."

And then, almost faster than Ron could blink, the guy _moved_.

* * *

_**July 15th, 1997, 2049 hours** _

Neville Longbottom knew the night had been going far too well. Something bad was bound to happen, and his lousy luck had caught up to him.

There was no time for precision, nor words or wand movements. _Knock him out, knock him out, knock him out._ He slung the wand from the pocket of his robes and blasted Jenkins off his feet, the man's eyes widening as the _stupefy_ smashed into his stomach. The other guy let out a yelp of panic, his wand appearing in his hand from nowhere as he screamed out " _Immobulus!_ "

Luna had sprung her wand into her fist as well, barely muttering " _protego,_ " as the blue jet of light smashed against a hasty, stuttering shield. Neville felt his heart pounding as he drew back, readying another spell…

...then a red jet of light flew out from the side of the street and slammed right into the Auror's head. The man fell limp and slumped over, out cold on the stone, a look of panic still spread across his face.

Neville stuttered to a halt. Luna was faster, pivoting to where the spell came from and pointing her wand into the dark alleyway. "Come out." she barked tersely, holding none of the dreamy, relaxed tone it usually held. He joined her as two hooded figures, one much taller and lankier, stepped out from the alley.

"We come in peace." The guy lowered the hood to reveal a shock of familiar, messy-straight red hair. "Thank Merlin Ginny's even faster with her wand than I am."

"Ron!" Neville croaked out, eyes bugging in surprise. "Blimey mate, you saved our arses."

"It would've been rough, but we could've taken him Neville. We are the DA, you know." Luna said with a smile. "Thank you, though, for helping us. Ron, Ginny, that is you, isn't it? What creature did I mention to Harry at the very beginning of our fifth year after we got off the Express?"

Ron looked bewildered at the sudden question, hesitating for a second. "Uh-you mean by the carriages? The thestrals, right?" Luna dropped her wand, beaming.

"Sorry you two, with Polyjuice and _imperius_ and all nowadays, I just wanted to check." She stuffed the wand in her pocket and pulled younger Weasley into a tight hug, who let out a little squawk of indignance. Ron let out a small giggle but walked over to the two downed Aurors, his face slowly turning serious. Neville followed him. Behind him, he heard Luna talking in quiet tones. "Did you do something with your teeth, Ginny? They look quite nice." He just snorted to himself.

"So what should we do about these two?" Neville muttered, kicking the unconscious man's robes gently. "If they remember we stunned them when they wake up, they'll have the place swarming with Aurors. Even if they don't recognize our faces, they'll have the whole village locked in. We can't take them with us either…" he trailed off, looking to Ron for suggestions. The redhead was frowning in deep thought, when a grin spread across his face.

"Lockhart." Ron muttered from next to him. Neville stared at him, eyebrows cocked in confusion. "Uh, what the hell do you mean, Lockhart?"

"Bloody git used memory charms to steal other people's success, remember? He wiped his own mind using my broken wand! We just need to do a memory charm!" Ron said, excitedly. Neville's eyes widened, but then he frowned.

"Um, I don't know about you, but I dunno how to do that." He said pointedly. "I doubt you do either." Ron deflated next to him as Luna and Ginny stepped forward. Ginny piped up from the side, apparently having heard them talk.

"Hermione's the only one who might know, out of all of us." She said, looking up at them. "You took NEWT Transfiguration, right Ron? Just turn them into something small and carry them in your robes. Change them back later, see if Hermione can wipe their minds. Then we can dump a bunch of alcohol on them, make it look like they drank too much. If not, we'll deal with that later."

Neville turned to look at the girl, shaking his head at the deviousness of the plan. He gave Ron a look, but the guy only shrugged, amused.

"Smaa-aart." Luna said in a sing-song voice. "Are you sure you didn't belong in my house?"

Ron quipped back first, already drawing his wand. "Nah, she takes after Gred and Forge a little much. _Ow_ , Gin, stop it, trying to concentrate here." He gave his sister a mock pout as she punched him in the arm. Neville just chuckled.

The redhead waved his wand in a square-like fashion, and Neville watched as the first Auror shrank into a block of wood no bigger than his fist. Ron repeated the movement and picked up the two pieces, stuffing them in his robes. "Alright, you lot." He stood up, looking satisfied with himself. "Ginny, watch our backs. Let's get the bloody hell out of here and find Harry and Hermione."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: That's it for today! Next chapter we'll finally get the meeting. We've got one new incantation this chapter. Side note: the Colovaria charm used to change Luna's hair and skin is actually canon, as Harry mentions having screwed up the wording on his Charms OWLs in OOTP. I'm not 100% sure if the incantation was ever actually spoken in the books or was derived from somewhere else, but there you go.
> 
> Dissimulo - Glamour charm. Creates a small illusion that can be placed on anything that is not resistant to magic. Useful for disguise or hiding-spots. If cast rapidly, is not very effective and will wear off quicker. Expert-level users weave the magic in small strands, essentially quilting dozens of miniature glamours together to create a larger illusion. Cannot be used to cover Harry's scar, for example, or other residual dark magic, nor magic resistant skin of individuals or creatures such as Trolls or Half-Giants.
> 
> .
> 
> .


	7. The Round Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All together again, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville, go over some of the basics of what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Drumroll for chapter 7! Finally got the crew together to meet up. There will be at least another chapter after this involving our crew's discussions. The whole conversation probably wouldn't fit in here, but the subjects I included seemed to flow naturally so I cut it off at about 5.5K words.

_._

_._

_._

_"Something of the young man's vision had penetrated to his captains and his soldiers._

_Something of the new ideal of the Round Table which was to be born in pain, something about doing a hateful and dangerous action for the sake of decency - for they knew that the fight was to be fought in blood and death without reward._

_They would get nothing but the unmarketable conscience of having done what they ought to do in spite of fear - something which wicked people have often debased by calling it glory with too much sentiment, but which is glory all the same._

_This idea was in the hearts of the young men who knelt before the God-distributing bishops - knowing that the odds were three to one, and that their own warm bodies might be cold at sunset."_

_-T.H. White, The Once and Future King_

_._

_._

_._

**CH - The Round Table**

_**July 15th, 1997, 2048 hours** _

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger found herself thanking the genius that had invented Sober-up and Refilling charms.

She sat there on the rickety porch steps of the Shrieking Shack nursing a suspiciously full bottle of mead. Even as the night pressed in around her, there was quiet tranquility; she felt as though she had room to breathe. There was no good reason for it. She should have been reeling from the metaphorical bomb her parents had dropped on her. She should have freaked out about the new Hogsmeade "security," a sure sign of a slippery slope, that the puppet Ministry was ready to start dumping their stifling corruption and fear-mongering upon innocents who deserved none of it. She should have been afraid, having understood the nature of the Horcruxes they would begin hunting for. She should be making plans, having seen the enemy that would obstruct them, false enforcers hiding behind a veneer of legitimacy.

An hour and a half ago, Hermione hit herself with the sober-up charm and apparated into Hogsmeade. Upon realizing she'd stumbled onto an Auror ward team, she felt none of the fear that was expected, only surprise. Her mind had catalogued the details, rapidly elucidating the bureaucracy's motives, while memorizing the focal points marked by the interlocking ward stones. She simply slipped her wand into her sleeve, sipped from her open bottle, then swaggered through their midst without a second glance. They didn't give her one either.

_I've completely snapped. I'm bloody losing it,_ she'd thought _._ It had bothered Hermione how nonchalant she remained in the face of imminent peril. From a logical perspective, she later reasoned, it wasn't quite so ridiculous. Not too many years had passed since she'd risked her life and broken the rules of time travel to rescue a falsely-accused criminal. Don't forget riding on an invisible death-horse with wings all the way from Scotland to London, to subsequently break into the most mysterious office of the Ministry and have a fatal brawl with terrorists. Really, sneaking past the police of a totalitarian regime while in plain sight was barely more than icing on a cake.

She had often wondered, years before, whether the Sorting Hat made the right decision putting her in Gryffindor. Hermione knew that she looked up to authority figures and idolized Dumbledore, perhaps too much. It was only later that she began to understand the man beneath the praise was still in fact just a man, and a flawed one indeed. It did not lead her to question her placement, not directly. It was, however, the first time she began to think about her place in the wizarding world as something more than "the super-smart muggleborn with bushy hair." Hermione knew their adventures required bravery to the extreme. Harry and Ron would never let her forget that a good number of their shenanigans might lead to them being "killed - or worse, expelled!"

It was fun to laugh at, but those words came back to bother her at times. It might've been ludicrous, but for a time she really did feel that way. With all the insecurities in her head about being a muggleborn, Hermione's worst fear was that her magic might one day be taken from her. She wasn't stupid after all - she knew that prejudiced policies meant obliviating muggleborns who were forced to leave the magical London. Yet she still brewed Polyjuice in a broken toilet as a snot-nosed girl, and helped her friends break every school rule ever written. Even then, she'd known that there was more to life. She would still recall the thunderstruck and happy look on Harry's chubby 11-year old face when she'd hugged him, before sending him off into the flames to face Quirrell and Voldemort.

" _Harry, you're a great wizard you know!...Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Harry, be careful!"_

Now, here she was. Fearless, angry, and (hopefully) prepared for the war ahead. After all this time, she'd stood by the same friends who'd faced a twenty-foot Troll in her stead. Throughout their years together, she'd needed to be brave and remain courageous in the face of fear, and finally learned it so deeply that it sat ingrained in her heart. A true Gryffindor, through and through.

For her friends, Hermione would break every rule. It just took a long time to realize it.

The rustle of the wind drew her focus back from that little reverie, and she took another sip while casting a _tempus_ charm. _They should be here soon,_ Hermione thought. The anxiety that had itched at her earlier in the day had largely faded. Thanks to her charmswork (sober-up charms aplenty) she knew it wasn't just the alcohol. Perhaps it was the shock of her family, combined with the numbness of Knockturn Alley, that had done the job. It niggled at her still, a minute insecurity about their reactions that wouldn't quite disappear. However, it remained muted. She had stood with them, and in turn, they with her. If she couldn't trust in that, what did she have left?

She'd taken her position outside in front of the Shrieking Shack for a few reasons. It was too early to go inside and Professor Lupin had probably shredded all the furniture decades ago. The Scottish air was peaceful and relaxing and she had missed it. And finally, she wanted to be able to see her friends coming from far off, and to wait for them at the door. If some of them didn't make it, she _would_ track them down and find them in the village below.

It was just about 9:00 when she finally saw four familiar figures stumbling up the hill. She put her wand away in her pocket as they staggered closer, hurrying up the grassy knoll. As they drew close, she recognized Ron's shock of red hair leading the front, and cocked an eyebrow as she realized that Luna's hair was the wrong color and Neville appeared to be wearing a weakly flickering glamour. As they neared, she took a final swig from her mead before rummaging for the cork from within her robes, and jamming the bottle shut.

Ron apparently caught the movement as they drew close, and he stared with his mouth open.

"Merlin's saggy pants, _Hermione?_ Are you bloody drinking?" He swore. The poor boy looked horribly flustered. Ginny choked something between an exclamation of surprise and a giggle, whereas to their sides, Luna just smiled and Neville let out a snort. Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron was always far too predictable, except when playing chess.

"Honestly, Ronald, it's good to see you too." Hermione snarked before she could filter the words. Her cheeks pinked slightly as she watched him sputter, and let out a sigh. "Yes, yes, it's mead. If you want some, bother me about it later. Let's just get inside, it's been a long day, and we don't want to be spotted now."

Bringing her wand to bear, she flicked open the door with a muttered " _Alohomora,_ " and the old creaky door swung open. They all shuffled inside (Luna and Ginny both sneaking a gentle squeeze of a hug as they pass by), and Hermione gazed out the door one last time and scanned the horizon before closing it and slamming the deadbolt home with a _clunk_.

"Good to see you all made it here okay." Harry's voice came from behind them. As soon as he came down the stairs, Hermione watched with a slight smile as Ron grabbed him into a one-armed hug, nearly putting Mrs. Weasley to shame. Harry apparently thought so too, feigning a moan of disgust as he struggled weakly. "Get off me, mum!"

Ginny just laughed and ducked around her brother to give Harry a squeeze and a peck on the cheek. Neville chuckled as the back of Harry's neck went red, and Hermione smirked at her best friend's obvious tell.

"So, fearless leader, what's the plan?" Neville piped up. Harry tossed him a half-hearted glare before looking around the room.

"This place is too small, let's go upstairs, there's at least one table up there that isn't completely shredded."

They tramped up the stairs, Hermione doing her best to ignore the musky scent of damp and rotting planks of wood. The old wallpaper _crackled_ under her fingers as she accidentally brushed past some of the huge claw marks ripped into the walls.

"This place looks far more ripped apart than I imagined from the outside." Luna commented, looking around at the damage. "It looks like a werewolf tore this place apart, not that it's been haunted by a ghost."

Hermione coughed, letting out a giggle. "Astute, Luna. This place and its passage to the Whomping Willow was created so that Professor Lupin could transform safely, back when he was a Hogwarts student." The blonde held an "O" of surprise for a moment before smiling again.

They made their way to a rather large round table covered in dust. One of the legs had been gouged out and shoved back together with Spell-o-tape. Harry swung his wand, and with a muttered " _tergeo,"_ all the dust fell to the floor, while the surface of the table smoked slightly.

"So…" Harry said, sitting down with a heave, chair creaking beneath him. They all grabbed a seat, meeting each other's eyes across the round table. Hermione unplugged the mead in her hands and slid it to him across the table. Harry looked at her rather shocked - _honestly, what was it with boys,_ she thought - before shrugging and taking a fat sip. Contemplating for a moment, he passed it to Neville gently.

"Luna, Neville...I...," he spoke softly, clearly hesitant. "I'm sorry for your loss." Neville, for his part, just nodded his somber acknowledgement and took a sip, before passing the bottle to the once-again blonde Luna next to him. The girl gave a watery smile, before gulping some down, and reaching forward. She grabbed Harry's hand for a simple squeeze.

"Thank you Harry," she said softly. "I know you mean it."

The silence fell over them. They weren't strangers to this, Hermione realized. Lesser friends would have been fidgeting from awkwardness, not knowing what to feel or what to say. But the 6 of them, they'd been here before. This was the silence that came after it all went wrong. After the Department of Mysteries, and then the attack last year, they would just sit together in comfortable silence. Holding each other's hands while they lay on hospital beds, or close together for shared warmth on the couches in the Common Room. A quiet comfort that needed very few words to express.

Harry gave Luna a nod, and Hermione could see all the expressions in his glittering green eyes. He'd always been an open book. "We've got a lot to talk about." That gaze brushed over them in turn. "Me first, just to explain what's coming up, I guess. I've figured out how to configure the Room of Requirement exactly how I want it, and it'll definitely be comfortable. I'm going to be living there for the next couple of weeks until school starts. I reckon you all want in, too."

A chorus of nods came from everyone. Harry smiled, but paused, as if thinking about something. Then he frowned, scratching his head.

"Second...just so everybody knows. We're not alone in the castle. Snape is also there."

There was a second of petrified silence.

" _ **SNAPE!**_ " Ron of course was the first to react. "That foul backstabbing son of a bitch!" He roared. "I'll fucking-"

Hermione didn't let Ron's tirade distract her, of course. Instead she began to think. It was only a logical course of action for Voldemort to make Snape into the new Headmaster as the school opened. He would appoint several of his Death Eaters as professors, probably in the DADA and Muggle Studies positions at least. Perhaps a false Auror squad placed to patrol the castle to make sure no one escaped. Snape would run the school, monitoring both insurrection from the students and trying to recruit new followers. Harry wasn't stupid. He also knew this, and hated Snape ferociously, much more than all of them. Upon realizing the man was in the castle, Harry was the most likely to try and ruin the man first. But if Harry _knew_ Snape was in the castle and did nothing about it…

"Enough Ron." Hermione barked, cutting through the other boy's tirade. "Harry, what is really the deal with Snape, and what are you _not_ saying?" She gave him a piercing look. "I can't believe you of all people _wouldn't_ try to do something impulsive to him after he killed Dumbledore, unless something else is going on."

Harry just groaned, and the others all looked at him. Ron and Ginny were sporting matching looks of shock and confusion, and Neville honestly looked dumbfounded. Luna though, was simply smiling as though she'd expected it all along.

"Who said I didn't do anything impulsive?" He muttered with an awkward grimace on his face. Hermione settled for a dangerous-looking glare, fixing her friend with a stare. Obviously, he was here so there was no need to be so worried, but _really_ couldn't Harry at least try to think things through, and stay out of trouble for once!

" _Harry Potter!"_ She hissed. "What did you do?"

"I might've tried to kill him." Harry muttered, the back of his neck bright red again as he rubbed it. "And only stopped when Dumbledore's portrait started yelling at me."

The horrified silence was broken tactlessly, like usual. "Honestly, mate, and you call me dim sometimes." Ron snorted, but his eyes were still wide with shock. "But Snape! Full-fledged, Death Eater Snape! How are you in one piece and not impaled and being dissolved over a cauldron? What the bloody hell happened?"

Harry threw his hands out in an exasperated gesture. "You know how Dumbledore was always so sure that Snape was on our side? 'I have complete trust in Professor Snape, Harry,' he'd say it all the time." He grimaced, running his fingers through his hair. "Let's just say I found out exactly why, and it involves an Unbreakable Vow."

"Uh, Harry?" Neville questioned, looking a little pale. "We are talking about the same guy who _killed_ our Headmaster, right? You sure he didn't hit you with a _Confundus_ or something?"

"You're missing the point." Harry sighed, looking down at his hands. "I'm not explaining this right either." He looked up at them, resolve on his face. "Dumbledore's painting said he was already dying. Remember the curse on his hand? He ordered Snape to go along with it to get in Voldemort's good graces and keep control of the school, and so that it might stop Malfoy from becoming an actual murderer."

"YOU MEAN ALL OF THAT WAS FOR THE FERRETY GIT!" Ron _screamed_ his anger this time, knocking the chair over as he jumped to his feet. "HE ALREADY HAS THE MARK! YOU HAVE _GOT_ TO BE TAKING THE MICKEY…" Hermione wasn't feeling much different. The anger boiled out of her chest. _Dumbledore just went and died for Draco-fucking-Malfoy and left us all in this goddamn mess...did you care enough help_ _ **us**_ _at all, Professor? Or are we just cannon-fodder for destiny while you try to give out second chances..._

"Shut up, Ron!" Ginny barked, finally speaking out, slapping her brother over the head. "I don't like it either, but Snape might still be useful and at least any Death Eaters at Hogwarts will be kept in line, you get it? They won't do anything terrible to the students." Hermione realized with a start that she was right. She hadn't even thought about that. It would be like Dumbledore to set things up this way ...but what could Snape really do?

"I don't like it either," said Harry, haltingly, "and while I respect what Snape's done so far, I'm not going to trust him with everything. I'm not telling him that we're staying in the Room of Requirement, and I'm not going to fill him in on the job that Dumbledore left me." He looked around, and stalled the question he could tell was about to come from Neville. "I'll get to that later tonight, but can we all agree that we'll keep Snape out of the loop where we can?"

Hermione nodded quickly, not taking much time to think. Around the room, the rest seemed to agree without pause.

"Ok, that's good." Harry said. Her friend looked a little lost, trying to figure out where to lead the conversation next. Before she could spoke up about anything however, Luna said something that made her freeze in her seat.

"Before you keep talking, Harry, I think Ginny and Hermione have a few things about themselves they need to mention. I do too, but I'll save it for later." The smile on the blonde girl's face _did not_ reflect Hermione's current mood at all. She chanced a look at Ginny to see the other redhead looking far more pale than usual, drumming her fingers on the tabletop.

"Uh, Ginny, Snape was the one who told me something was wrong, but he wouldn't say what." Harry was speaking _really_ awkward. He turned to send her a look as well. "I don't want to force you to say anything now. Hermione...I don't know what it is, but the same goes for you." If she wasn't so nervous about this, she would've laughed at the look on his face.

Hermione felt a slight rush of warmth and tossed him a smile, but it wasn't enough to melt the slight ball of ice in her stomach.

"That's kind of you, Harry. But I think…" Hermione bit her lip. "I trust you, all of you. I won't speak for Ginny, but this is something I need to get off my chest." She threw back her hood and kept her eyes closed, hearing the gasps and intakes of breath from around the room. She opened her eyes to see Ron staring at her goggling.

"Are your bloody ears pointy?" Ron muttered. "Shit, your eyes are glowing purple! I almost didn't see it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ron, I told you I had a rough day. My parents decided to surprise me and inform me that I am, in fact, half-human."

Even Luna, who had pushed for this confrontation, looked surprised upon seeing the uncovered face. "You're a half-elf aren't you? Like the stories my mother used to tell about the High Elves when I was a little girl."

Hermione nodded, slightly shocked but not overly surprised that the blonde Ravenclaw knew what she was talking about. Probably another _Quibbler_ conspiracy. "Yeah. I was going to _obliviate_ my obviously muggle parents and send them to Australia so they'd be safe. Imagine my surprise when they didn't need protection and explained they'd been lying to me my whole life to keep me safe." She spat the last out sarcastically. Conveniently, she dropped off any mention of the prophecy her father had discussed with her. _Only so many heavy topics at once,_ she thought _._ She chanced a glance around, looking away from the dusty clawed-up table.

Harry was still looking shell-shocked, and Ron's eyes kept flicking over the changes in her features, but finally shrugged. "What does that mean, exactly?" Neville asked, leaning forward, looking curious. Hermione just shrugged.

"My blood was magically restricted by my parents to keep me in the dark." She spoke bitterly, looking down again. There was a slight gasp at this, _was that_ _Ginny?_ She continued on. "I don't really know. There's almost no literature on the High Elves since they're so dangerous and rare. I'm already more sensitive to magic than I used to be, and a bit more powerful, but my magic is still going through maturity. My body is stronger than it used to be, but other than that I don't know enough right now. I guess I'll be finding out what happens."

"Wait a minute, what even are the High Elves?" Harry asked, looking confused. "Definitely nothing like House-Elves, obviously. Are we talking Elves from, like Lord of the Rings? I remember Dudley used to read that before Vernon started telling him to watch boxing movies instead." Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at the obvious maniac that was Harry's uncle.

"Close, actually, but not quite. Did you know that Tolkien was a squib? He found some literature on their race while in France during the Great War, and changed the facts to make his own story." Luna said, happily. Hermione goggled at this bit of information, almost exploding with questions on the spot., but managed to close her mouth as Luna kept talking. "Much more violent in real life than in any of those stories though. They were a warlike hierarchical culture, respecting a balance between nature and civilization. They're physically similar in description to those storybooks, but the High Elves used magic similar to how we do. There are rumors that humans used exclusively staves or wandless magic for the longest time, until the Elves taught us how to make wands. They created many branches of magic and are extremely long-lived, lifespans of at least thousands of years. There's a myth that said they left Earth for a planet that they made for themselves, somewhere far away."

Ron snorted. "That's the battiest thing I've ever heard, way more than invisible Snorcacks." Hermione shot him a glare, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"She's right, actually. My father won't tell me very much about the Elves, but he apparently ripped through some sort of dimensional magic in order to get back to Earth and hide me. Apparently there was something dangerous about my birth since Elf children are really rare, even a half-elf like me. He escaped with my mother and settled in England."

Hermione decided to leave out the bit about prophecy, for a second time. It kept popping up in her head. She needed to learn more about it before scaring them with another big problem to worry about.

Neville let out a low whistle at the news, but Ron was just even more confused. The bushy-haired girl sighed, mentally preparing for it...

"I think," Ron said slowly. "That it doesn't actually matter." Hermione's head shot up at this. "You're still, Hermione, right? Still the girl who I insulted and then knocked out a troll for. You're our friend. We'll figure it out." He said, simply. "That's all there is to it." Having taken a drink of his own, he noticed the bottle in the middle of the table and slid it back over to her. She looked down at it, took a swig, and smiled at him, holding back her tears.

"Thanks Ron," she said weakly. Ron just grinned good-naturedly, elbowing his sister in the ribs. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. After all, once Ginny talks, it'll be obvious that I've already had some practice with surprise reveals."

"Ron!" Ginny shrieked. She slapped her brother over the head for at least the fourth time that night, ignoring his indignant " _ow!"_ She sighed, taking a deep breath.

"It's ok," said Hermione, trying to be gentle. Ginny just nodded, her pallor remaining, then froze in her seat for several seconds. Her lips began to twitch, before finally she blurted it out.

"Last year, after the attack I got bitten and...nowI'mavampire!"

The redhead girl gasped out the words. Everybody stared at her for an awkward second, obviously noting the visible pale-white of her skin and absorbing the new, terrible information. Then Luna giggled quietly, hiding her smile behind a single dainty hand. "I knew you did something to your teeth to make them look so pretty!" She exclaimed.

Hermione just goggled, even though she couldn't exactly help the giggle that escaped her lips. Across from her, Ron let out a hopeless guffaw of laughter, banging on the table with his fist. Neville's eyes were wide, his mouth completely open.

Ginny's pallid expression turned half-enraged and half-mortified. "Luna!" she shrieked out, "I didn't do _anything special_ to my teeth, they just grew out like this!"

_She doesn't look so different,_ Hermione thought at first, staring at the redhead. It wasn't a noticeable change to her features, like pointing ears. But as she looked carefully, she realized that there were subtle changes, here and there. Ginny's face had lost all its baby fat, and the sharp sculpt of her face that Hermione had attributed to growing up and the stress of the war had become more glaringly obvious, radiating an unnatural aura that she could almost feel. Her friend's brown eyes carried a shifting hint of gold that she could barely make out in the dim lighting. _I wonder what her fangs really look like, not those silly pictures in our DADA books,_ she thought, eyebrows clenching slightly.

Harry choked on a laugh, still staring at Ginny, while also trying to not look stricken. "How-what-why didn't you tell me?" He finally mumbled out, staring at his ex-girlfriend. She just smiled sadly, giving him a look, and before looking away self-consciously.

"I was scared." she said finally, wringing her hands. "Bill just got attacked by that werewolf, and you saw how Mum was. She'd have locked me in the house if she knew back then. You were already destroyed from Dumbledore's death, and I knew you three were up to something even then...I-I didn't…" She choked off, looking miserable.

"It's ok." said Harry, soothingly, standing up and rubbing her shoulders, then hugging her from behind. Ron tossed them a look, but Hermione kicked him from under the table, sending him a venomous glare. He frowned but rolled his eyes, giving a clear look: _I surrender._

"I don't blame you, and thanks for trusting us now, okay?" Harry said, standing up. "We can talk more later, alright? Let's get to the castle first. Just know that we've all got your backs with this. Both of you." He looked toward Hermione, who sent back a weak smile in return. "The six of us, this here at this table, this is all we've got. We-" He choked, for a moment, then sighed. "We can't rely on anyone else, not really, not anymore. Dumbledore's gone, the Order's in tatters. Tom rules the streets, and the only thing in his way is the fact that he's going to keep coming after me." Harry's shoulders were hunched, the fear and uncertainty was plain on him. But his eyes - Hermione always remembered the look in those eyes, the same look he had every year; she knew it meant that her best friend would wipe away anything in his path, and do whatever it took to get the job done. That bright green fire _**burned,**_ darker and more resolute than she'd ever seen it. His words didn't so much make their way to her ears, but etched themselves upon her soul.

"I don't care about that, any of it. You're my friends, the closest thing I've ever had to a family. Always have been, always will be. You didn't have to come here, not for me, but the whole lot of you did. This is our fight now. We take care of each other, no matter what, and we're going to watch out for each other 'till this is over for good."

And Hermione knew already that he was right, and that they would do just as he said. They all had a stake in what came next. They'd been through more together than any other kids, and there were still plenty of hard times just waiting for them on the horizon. Still, they'd have to tell the other three about the Horcruxes, but it wouldn't make a difference. By the end of tonight, they'd still agree to join, not just to kill Voldemort but to keep an eye out for their friends. She already knew that too.

Hagrid wasn't usually one for wise words, but Hermione couldn't help but think of the man now.

" _What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does..._ "

Then Ron raised his hand, looking almost constipated. "Um, everybody, lovely talk, but before we get going, we should probably solve this problem here first." He reached into his pocket. Neville's eyes bulged, as Luna giggled again.

"Honestly, Ronald, had you forgotten?" she said, amused. Ron's ears went red as he pulled out two little blocks of wood, and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. Hermione frowned and raised an eyebrow, looking at the redhead who was still sheepish, hesitant to talk.

"Oh if you won't spit it out, honestly." Ginny spoke up, sporting conflicting looks both amused and serious, before turning to Harry and Hermione. "We came across Luna and Neville as they ran into two Aurors on nighttime patrol. Neville stunned one, and I got the other. Ron transfigured them so we could bring them up to the Shack and maybe figure out how to _obliviate_ them."

Hermione, frozen, only turned to Harry, whose face rapidly flashed between worried and amused. "You transfigured Aurors into wood?" He said with a half-grin, finally. "Did you even study the Untransfiguration for something like that Ron? I distinctly remember Hermione being mad enough to nearly blow up a library table after reading your essay for McGonagall."

She slowly turned back to the redhead, who was looking more and more alarmed by the second. In fact, she did remember the incident. "I only charred the surface, and Madam Pince didn't notice before I fixed it," she said absentmindedly, still looking down at the blocks of wood. These two were Aurors who probably would've reported them to the Ministry and gotten them killed. A year ago, she would've been utterly furious. But now it was also the only thing he could've done, for sure, and she couldn't blame him. "Ron, _honestly,_ next time don't turn humans into wood if you don't know how to switch them back. _For Merlin's sake."_ She fell into exasperated muttering, pulling out her wand. She slashed it straight down, altering the _Finite Incantatem,_ while doing her best to visualize the change back into an Auror. After about a second, the block stretched, and a red-cloaked figure lay unconscious on the floor with an expression of surprise on his face.

"Well, at least you did the spell properly," said Hermione, kneeling and examining him. "If he had been awake that would mean he must've woken up with his mind still inside a wooden block. They put people in St. Mungo's long-term for stuff like that." She shot Ron a glare, and he paled further. "Be careful next time," she said shortly, half-amused and half-annoyed. The rest of them were all looking at her with odd smiles. She rolled her eyes, knowing she'd gone at least a little bit into _lecture mode._

"Alright then, let's do this," she said, standing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: That's all folks! I had to edit this chapter a couple of times. Dialogue, you may have noticed, is definitely not my strong suit. Which sucks, but I'll have wayyy too many opportunities to work on it while I'm writing this fanfic. So hopefully y'all don't mind how it is right now, and it'll get better as things go on. Reviews might help.
> 
> No new spells in this chapter, really. The Sober-up charm is just a name I invented though there are a lot of similar spells/potions in fanon, but the Refilling charm is definitely canon. Harry uses it to refill Slughorn's wine in book 6 while in Hagrid's hut, at Aragog's funeral. There isn't an incantation for it, but Hermione's going to use the charm next chapter so I'll add the incantation down in these bottom notes at that time.
> 
> .
> 
> .


	8. For Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aurors are taken care of. Harry unveils the new and improved Room of Requirement, and the band of friends learn what they must do to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: More than 30 Faves and 50 Follows! Thanks to my readers for being awesome. I started writing the first couple chapters for kicks a few years back and didn't think I'd actually ever make a story out of it. I had absolutely no expectations of how this would go when I first started publishing, so hats off to you all.
> 
> Quick note: The Taboo! In canon DH, the Taboo on Voldemort's name came into effect immediately after the Ministry is taken over (see Luchino Caffe Duel, AKA the skirmish on Tottenham Court Rd). I don't actually know if I want the Taboo in this story, and if it does come into play it'll be because I invent a plausible explanation for exactly how it gets implemented. It seems like a massive and really powerful use of magic, and though we know Voldemort is skilled I don't think he could easily cast and maintain that kind of detection over the entirety of Great Britain. And if he could, why didn't he repeat it for the name Tom Riddle? Anyone who says that name aloud is far more likely to be a direct threat to Voldemort's political power base, as well as to his immortality. I know magic is magic and obviously hard to explain, but part of my story in the long-run is going to involve delving into how magic is shaped and used. The Taboo is pretty unexplainable, so I'm leaving it off for now.
> 
> As always, comments are my lifeblood. Here's Chapter 8. Last chapter was full Hermione POV, I'm going to run with mostly Harry POV for this chapter, except the very end where Hermione goes into lecture mode.

** CH - For Good **

_**July 15th, 1997, 2112 hours** _

Harry Potter eyed Hermione's tensed figure, while the rest of his friends stared at the unconscious Aurors on the dirty floor.

_This is my fault,_ was his first thought. He said as much just moments later. "I'm sorry you lot." He began, slowly. "I didn't think there'd be any problems in Hogsmeade. When I got here, there wasn't even a single squad, so I thought..." Hermione shot him a dirty look as if she'd already gleaned his thoughts via legilimency. Instantly, he stopped talking. Honestly, she probably didn't even need to read his mind, at this point she could probably just tell by the look on his face.

"Oh, shut it Harry," she practically barked at him. "You've got that _it's-all-my-fault_ look on your face again. There's no way you could've known." _Yep, there it is._ He didn't have time to respond indignantly before she turned away, ignoring his attempt at a reply. She exhaled heavily as she focused her eyes back to the still-sleeping men. "I haven't actually done this before," she continued after a moment of pause. "I know the theory perfectly, however. Let's hope this works. Harry, keep a wand on each of them please, just in case."

Taking a deep breath, she pointed her wand at the closest one, a sallow-looking figure with brown hair whose face seemed to be horribly surprised even in his sleep. " _Rennervate._ " The man gave a sharp gasp, immediately focusing on Hermione's glowing wandpoint aimed between his eyes. His eyes flickered wildly across the room, landing on Harry and recognizing him instantly, mouth jerking open. "WAI-"

" _Obliviate!"_ Hermione cried out firmly, wandtip shaking as she twisted her wrist during the incantation. The man's eyes went completely blank and glazed, his mouth sinking open slightly. Harry shivered at the lack of expression on his face, remembering for an instant the similar look on Katie Bell when she'd been cursed by Malfoy's _imperius._ Shaking his head, he focused as Hermione stunned the man again. He didn't want to think about the similarities between those two mind-magics, not right now.

"Looks like it worked," Hermione analyzed curtly. She pivoted toward the man's partner. "Watch this one, I'm about to wake him up." She repeated the sequence of spells, moving her wand faster this time. The other man's eyes glazed over before he could even look around, and then a red flash sent him back to unconsciousness. An awkward moment of silence spread in the shack as they stared at their victims.

"Now what?" She asked, standing up slowly. "We can't just dump them somewhere in Hogsmeade. It'll be really obvious that something is wrong with them. Memory charms can be broken by the right use of legilimency, you know."

Ron laughed from behind her. "Ginny came up with the idea to leave them by some bottles and spill alcohol on them, so it looks like they went and got drunk." His grin was wicked as he ruffled his sister's red hair. "Ickle-Gin-Gin's been thinking too much like the rest of her brothers."

"Shut up, Ronniekins." Ginny probably meant to be mocking, but the half-growl, half-purr that emanated for her lips carried the words like a deadly warning. It was a bit hair-raising to see her eyes flash golden for a moment. Harry, however, couldn't hold back his smirk when Ron's winced under his sister's threat, her eyes promising violence. _I can't tell if these two are better or worse than Fred and George._ He interjected before Ginny could punch Ron again. His best mate would be black and blue before tomorrow at this rate. "It's a good plan," he said, "and I'm pretty positive we won't figure out a different excuse that covers memory loss, can we?"

There were shrugs all around. Hermione bit her lip, but slowly shook her head. "I can't think of one," she admitted. She grabbed the bottle of mead on the table and poured a small amount over the Aurors' red robes. Ron spluttered in protest and Neville let out a little groan. She shot them both a little glare and rolled her eyes, snorting in amusement. Harry couldn't help but grin, covering his mouth to cut short an incredulous laugh. _She's always got us all collared well and bloody tight, whether I led the DA or not._

" _Geminio, geminio,"_ she intoned. Two copies of the glass bottle popped into existence, dropping onto the floor with a sharp _clink_ and rolling away. Then she pointedly looked at Ron and Neville before tapping her wand on her original bottle once again. " _Repleo._ " Slowly, the volume of mead in the bottle began to grow, refilling the bottle. She cut off the spell as the froth threatened to spill over the brim. She basked in their gaping expressions with a grin.

"I never thought I'd see the day Hermione Granger used magic frivolously to refill a bottle of alcohol for no good reason." Harry said, teasing her in a falsely-pompous tone. He chuckled as Hermione's cheeks pinked, just enough, though she still managed to shoot him a glare.

"Enough of that," he snorted. "I'll just transfigure them back and dump them in an alley." Even as all three of the girls turned _in unison_ to glare at Harry, and he thought " _Yikes, that's terrifying,"_ Ron interjected first.

"Er - mate, I hate to break it to you but you're literally the most wanted of all of us." He said, seriously.

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket. "I hate to break it to you" He said sarcastically, as he waved it around, "But I'll be invisible."

Ron looked a bit relieved, but still shrugged. "We were able to fit all three of us under that thing, back in our midget days, mate." He grinned cheekily. "At least take me with you." Hermione tosses him a disapproving glare upon his reminder of _midget days._

"He's right, the two of you should go." She piped up, playing with her wand as she began to think. "We'll keep watch over here in the doors and windows. Come back in…" she threw a tempus charm at the table, projecting the time. "Half-an hour, at most. If you don't, we're all coming after you two, got it? If you get into trouble just run back, or throw up sparks or something. We'll be watching in that direction. Knock when you get back and I'll ask you a question at the door."

Harry nodded, turning to the tall redhead who had paused to take another sip of mead. "Coming, mate, or are you busy?"

Ron gulped down, smacking his lips as he did. "Sorry, you know what it is." He shrugged, grinning still. "Let's go."

* * *

"What d'you think'll happen with the Aurors?" Ron trudged behind Harry as they crept across the untamed grass. His lanky form held one hand over their heads to keep ahold of the cloak. Harry's wand is drawn, ready to throw the silvery folds to the side and fight if needed. The whispered question startles Harry out of his silent thoughts. For a moment, he's bewildered by the question. "You daft? We're going to drop them off in an alley with the empty bottles. What're you on about?"

"Oh, no I meant the Auror Corps in general." Ron whispered. Harry isn't turned to face his friend, but heard the obvious worry in his voice. "Think about it for a second. Scrimgeour reformed them some but there's still plenty of corruption, maybe a lot of wanna-be Death Eaters. The ones we know who're with the Order will have to cut and run, and what happens then?"

"Voldemort will go after them," Harry said, deadpan. It was the only real course of action for the Dark Lord to take, he knows. The Order of the Phoenix was already the only remaining resistance in Britain, and allowing them to remain in the Aurors was simply idiotic. At best they'd spy on Ministry operations, and at worst they might even attempt sabotage or a removal of Voldemort's puppet in the Minister's office. "He'll send the Death Eaters on their tails, maybe even try to find some of them personally."

Ron shifted behind him uncomfortably behind him as they walked. "I've been thinking." He said, quietly. "What if he doesn't? What if the remaining Aurors are given orders to go after them, to make an example out of anyone who tries to leave?"

Harry's blood ran cold and he almost tripped over his own feet, steadying as Ron grabs his arm. "Shit," he hissed, despairing at the thought. "Shit. I didn't even think about that. You're right though, that's exactly what he'd do."

"I've been thinking about the Ministry a lot," said Ron, miserably. "Dad's still going to have to go into work, you know. The whole place is held hostage because they're afraid, and when it comes down to it we might have to fight a lot of Ministry employees who don't want anything to do with this." He let out a bitter chuckle, keeping his voice down. "I wonder what Percy'll do."

"Your brother might be a git, but he's not a monster, and he was brave enough for Gryffindor. He already saw what happened when Dumbledore proved Fudge wrong about Voldemort." Harry didn't know Percy that well, but he didn't believe the elder Weasley would do anything horrible. "He'll come around, if he hasn't already in secret."

"Part of me says that I don't care about the git." Ron whispered acridly, and then sighed. "But even if I didn't believe Perce could leave like he did, I think you're right. Thanks mate. It's just - I haven't even talked to him in two years. And Mum and Dad...Ginny and I just ran off, and left a note on the fridge. Mum's gonna kill me when we come back, but what if..." He trailed off, losing himself in his own worries.

Harry nodded as they kept walking, feeling lost and unable to do much to console his friend, but then stopped, holding out a hand. They both paused there, not far from the flickering lights of the village, looking down at the empty streets from atop the gently sloping hills. "Think about it like this." He muttered, turning toward Ron. "Someone's got to do something about Voldemort and his lackeys if the magical Britain will ever be safe." Harry paused. His mind flitted back to a different time, standing in Dumbledore's office with the man gesticulating wildly, pacing the length of the floor as they discussed the prophecy. "Dumbledore said something like this once, last year, so I'll try to explain it the same way." He breathed in deep, looking squarely into his friend's blue eyes. "Pretend for a second, that I'm _not_ the Chosen One and all that shite, but Voldemort was still in power and _you_ somehow learned about the Horcruxes. He's still the Dark Lord, and he's got control of the government by force. What would you do if you had the chance?"

Ron seemed put off by the question for a moment, almost scoffing it off as ridiculous before slowly understanding what Harry was trying to get at. A look of surprise, then grim understanding seemed to dawn on his face. "I-I'd," he swallowed momentarily, fumbling his words. "I'd have to do something. Anything. For the family's sake." There's silence for a moment, and Harry watches his friend gather his emotions. It was an understanding that he himself had only gained last year, after Dumbledore had pressed on him the importance of his motivation. Even now he still wasn't sure he could grasp it in full, though it wasn't so different than his _saving-people-thing_.

"They killed my uncles you know. Dolohov and some other Death Eaters." Ron says it suddenly, shaking his head, staring blankly toward the empty village. "I think it's why Mum's such a control freak, so worried about us all the time...I'm not young enough to remember, but Bill hinted to me once that she bought our family clock because of that." Harry watched him turn, saw his expression flatten into resolve. "I'd have to do something. So she doesn't feel like that again."

"Yeah..." Harry spoke quietly, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "You alright now?"

Ron shrugged, noncommittal, and responded curtly. "I will be when we're through with this, as long as it takes." He pulled the transfigured blocks of wood from his pocket, tossing one of them lightly. "Let's dump these berks and get back to the others."

And with a shared nod, they were off.

* * *

"Harry, your cloak is brilliant and all, but we won't all fit under that. How are we getting into the castle without being spotted?" Hermione asked, barely 15 minutes later as they all stood inside the front door to the Shrieking Shack. Harry shook his head from where he seated himself on the dusty stairs, dragging himself to his feet.

"There isn't anyone in the castle. No one's going to see us. The passage in the back leads straight under the Whomping Willow, on Hogwarts grounds and inside the wards. There'll be no magical evidence we were here at all. We can just walk in the front doors." He rummaged through his pockets for a moment and pulled out a very particular piece of old parchment. "We have the Marauder's Map, anyway. As long as one of us keeps an eye on it, we'll be clear."

The passage out of the Shrieking Shack was barely hidden at all, blocked by a dirty wooden board that Sirius must have put up. The rumors about the shack, Harry supposed, were enough to keep anyone but the most reckless of visitors from finding the passage. He felt a slight pang as he remembered Sirius' brokenly happy expression upon hearing that he might one day get to take care of his godson as they crawled out of the tunnel. Harry brushed the sorrow aside, after a moment. He'd gotten too good at that.

The tunnel looked just as it always had; dirt and stone were cobbled together to form a weak floor, with planks thrown together like scaffolding along the sides to protect the low-hanging dirt walls from collapse. He lit the tip of his wand with a quietly muttered " _Lumos,_ " and stared ahead into the darkness. "Watch your heads in here, the tunnel's low and we're not as small as we were as third years." Ron snorted from the background and Harry grinned at him, continuing. "Just fair warning. We might have to crawl on hands and knees once we get near the Willow."

"Well then Harry, I suppose you'll owe us a bath. It has been a nasty few days." Luna said sagely, nodding in a satisfied manner as she wrapped her wand in her long hair and left it stuck above her ear. Harry just grinned at the odd Ravenclaw.

"You'll get your chance, I promise. Let's get going."

Harry didn't come near this passage very often. Sneaking into Hogsmeade had usually been the priority in previous years, and it had always been more efficient to use the Honeydukes route. Even now, he couldn't help but be disconcerted by the cramped space and the dirt and wood surrounding him. It wasn't horribly uncomfortable, but it reminded him of the cupboard that had been his bedroom, once upon a time. _The Dursley's sucked,_ Harry acknowledges to himself, _but no use hating the dead._ The cupboard didn't bother him anymore. At least that's what he told himself. Still, he took solace in the people following behind him, and kept moving.

It turned out he was right about the exit. The sloping tunnel below roots of the Whomping Willow was so steep that he was practically climbing vertically to get out. He grabbed one of the thick, heavy roots in one hand as he heaved himself up, the great branches of the moving tree frozen above as he pulled himself onto the grass, panting slightly. He tried vainly to brush the huge smears of dust and grass and earth from his jeans. _Whatever._ He bent low, still on his hands and knees, pulling up his friends as they came out of the hole. Luna followed behind him, a curious spring in her step as she seemed to bounce off the roots and onto her knees on the ground above. As soon as Ron got out, he stared offering a hand as Neville and Ginny came through. Harry almost started cackling as a sheepish Ron, his ears red even in the darkness, slung his arms around Hermione to help her up, the last person in the tunnel. _He's so bloody thick, I swear._

They walked toward the dark castle together. Even at night Hogwarts looked wrong without its students. The bluebell-flame torches at the front entrance were extinguished. In the high towers and windows, no lights flickered. No sign of students sneaking around in dorms or staying up late to do homework. It radiated a pervading emptiness, and it felt wrong to see his one-time home like this. He suspected that sometimes teachers lived here over the summer based on conversations he'd heard. However, it was obvious that no one wanted to, now Dumbledore was dead. Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map as they came close, noting that Snape was in the dungeons even at this late hour. Apparently the Potions Master didn't like to use Dumbledore's office. _Golly, I wonder why..._

"No one's around, and Snape's in the dungeons," Harry muttered as they neared the tall oak doors that opened up into the Entrance Hall. "Help me with the door, would you?" Neville steps in beside him and Ron to his right, and they shove the door open slowly. _Creeeaaaak._ The sound echoes down the stones. Inside, the castle is much the same: dark, eerie, lonely. He heaves the door closed as Luna and Ginny shuffle in together after Hermione.

The sounds of their shoes are the only noise that penetrate the ambiance. They traverse the halls in silence, Harry flicking his eyes down to the map every once in a while. He held his wand lazily in front of him. The light bled down the hallways and only served to give him the impression that they were in a massive haunted house. Dudley had loved watching horror movies on the telly at night, even if the jump-scares he fell for essentially shook the house. Harry felt like he was almost waiting for the Bloody Baron to pop out of the wall and start hissing at them, or Peeves to show up with an unwelcome load of dungbombs.

Neville broke the awkward silence after they'd finally climbed to the 7th floor, obviously unnerved by the chilly atmosphere. "Sneaking around at night never felt so creepy," he whispered hoarsely, voice carrying through the stillness even though he'd barely spoken. Harry turned to give him a wry grin.

"You're telling me, I've been roaming around this place all day and I didn't even see any of the ghosts!"

"That's not possible!" Hermione hissed, trying and failing to keep her voice down. "They're ghosts, they can't just leave the place they supposed to haunt! They have to be somewhere near." Harry frowned. He knew she was right, but shrugged.

"I don't know what to tell you." He grinned, feeling mischievous. "What if they're watching right now, about to pop out of the ceiling?"

Hermione's only response was a venomous glare.

Soon enough they passed the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and Harry paused in front of the door. Everyone behind him knew about the Room of Requirement and had easily figured where they were going. Harry smiled to himself, wishing he could borrow Colin Creevey's infamous camera right about now. Maybe he could borrow the pensieve to record the memory. He wondered if his friends would be as thoroughly impressed as he was.

He paced back and forth in front of the Room, remembering how it had looked last time.

_3...2...1..._

He didn't wait for a second, shoving the iron double-doors open the instant they rippled into view.

Behind him, the sharply drawn breaths, gasps of shock, and a single muttered _"Holy shit,"_ told him that he'd made the right call in choosing their home base.

The room was large, but not massive anymore, instead giving off a homely vibe without being small. Each of the four corners was decorated with a banner of one of Hogwarts' founders, and designed to look like a small version of the house Common Rooms. The Slytherins with their tall and green-tinted windows, the overstuffed Gryffindor armchairs, the yellowish bricks and portholes of Hufflepuff's walls, and the large library desks and study chairs he expected from Ravenclaw. The walls appeared to be made of stones that gradually changed in color, shape, and size, forming a strangely beautiful gradient as each area bled into the next. There were four large columns in the room, but instead of coming to the floor they opened up to reveal identical fireplaces, each one with everlasting flames of a different color. Two archways opened up on the left and right sides, leading to other rooms.

Last time he'd entered, Harry noticed that each house had their own magical artifacts that somehow seemed suited to them. The blue Ravenclaw corner had several shelves of books, some of which were clearly empty. The Slytherin corner held a number of familiar workbenches and pieces of equipment he'd seen in Potions, but were clearly more sturdy and trimmed in gleaming silver, stacked alongside several shelves of creepy-looking ingredients. Near the familiar red and gold, Harry had spotted a large grey object that reminded him of an enormous anvil with several dials on the side. The Hufflepuff area had an easel covered in charts and equations he didn't recognize, and a large square table whose surface seemed to be made of cast-iron, with several bottles of multicolored liquids and a bunch of tools that looked more like they belonged in a muggle's garage than in the secret halls of a magical school.

The true centerpiece of the room, however, stood at the far end. A sprawling wide dais raised from the floor, with a thick round table sitting regally atop it. It was as if the platform and the table had been carved from a single piece of obsidian glass. The Hogwarts crest stood above it, a proud declaration upon the wall. High above, gentle clouds drifted above floating candles that spread across the entire room, the ceiling enchanted identically to the Great Hall seven floors below. _This room is as beautiful as when I first found it,_ he thought.

" _OH MY GOD!"_ Hermione screeched. The brown-haired blur shot forward so fast that Harry barely even saw her move, as she sprinted to the Ravenclaw's bookshelves. He could only laugh as she literally vibrated with excitement, picking several books and gasping at their titles. "Harry, these are all from the _Restricted Section!_ " she cried out in glee, clutching them to her chest. Next to him, Ron had also walked inside, torn between awe at his surroundings and giggling at Hermione's newfound euphoria. Neville was just looking around, jaw agape as if someone had just handed him a dozen _Mimbulus Mimbletonia._ Luna had walked over to the Hufflepuff section in the meantime, extremely interested by the metallic-looking table.

"Hermione, you'll want to see this!" She called out happily, eyes wide as she rapped the smooth iron with her knuckles in a dull _clang_. Harry himself didn't know what it was and walked over there, but Hermione was even faster. Not dropping the heavy books she carried, she sprinted around him and left a gust of wind in her wake, joining Luna's side. _Then_ the books fell to the floor, and even she was agape. "A Rune-scribe table!" she gasped out, panting heavily as she ran her hands across the surface. " _Merlin's holy balls!_ "

Ron finally couldn't take it anymore, trying and failing to hide his obvious laughter behind his wand hand, while doubling over wheezing from his lungs. Neville had tossed back and sat himself down in the nearest armchair, gaze flicking back and forth between the ceiling and the ornate designs in the Room. Harry's eyes fell upon Ginny last of all, who was looking curiously over at the large, heavy object near the Gryffindor corner.

"All right, you lot," Harry called out in a false drawl. "We have until September at least before we leave, there's plenty of time to check everything out. There are bedrooms and bathrooms over there, I think." He pointed to the right side archway, where they'd been last time he'd created the room. "And I can ask Dobby to grab something for you, if you're hungry." He added.

"Harry." Ginny's voice was grave. Turning to face her, Harry couldn't help but be taken aback by the serious resolve on her face. "What exactly did you, Ron and Hermione bring us together for? What were you talking about in the letter?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He can't think.

The question knocked him completely off balance, like a bludger in the arse. A flash of memory hits him, the diary with a fang stabbed through its pages in his mind's eye. Black ink seeping into his robes and his skin, blood and grime on his hands as Ginny wakes, eyes shrouded in fear.

_How am I suppose_ _d to tell her we're looking for more objects exactly like the diary? That she's been attacked directly by a piece of Voldemort's teenage soul?_ A wave of despair distracts him from his thoughts. _Where do I even start?_

"We should sit down." Hermione took over for him, obviously noticing her friend was lost. "This might take a little while." To the side, Ron was stunned by his sister, eyes wide and face frowning with an expression like carved stone. Neville and Luna shared a nervous glance. _They can tell this won't be good._

Ginny just nodded and the rest followed behind her as they made their way over to the large table. Harry heaved himself into the nearest chair, unable to lift his gaze from the glassy surface. A hand grabbed his own and squeezed gently, and he looked up at Hermione. "Start from the very beginning. I think they should know everything if they're going to help." She said it as calmly as she could, quietly, and Harry squeezed her hand back, trying to convey his gratitude. He hesitated for a bit, giving himself time to breathe.

_All the pieces to this mess, and I'm the one who shows them how it ties together._ He thought, bitterly. _And I'm the one who has to cut the knot._

"This all started before I was born really." His voice is hoarse, beaten, but he clears his throat and keeps going. "In the early spring of 1980, Dumbledore needed a new Divination professor. He decided to give an interview to Trelawney because she was the relative of a well-known seer." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, remembering the memory he once viewed in a pensieve. "He had it scheduled in the Hog's Head. He told me it was obvious she was a fraud at first, but as he was going to leave something happened. Her eyes rolled back and she went into a trance, and gave a real prophecy." He paused, looking up at his friends, not knowing what kind of composure he had left on his face. "The same prophecy that was in the DOM that night, couple of years back."

"Professor Dumbledore told you what it said, didn't she?" Luna whispered out. He could only nod.

"If it was anyone else, I wouldn't tell them," Harry said. "But this prophecy has done a lot of damage to us in this room. I told Ron and Hermione last year, but all of you deserve to know."

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."_

Ginny's eyes were wide in fear, but Luna looked oddly unperturbed, almost as if she'd expected it all along. _Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised,_ he thought. Harry paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and letting his words sink in. "Neville," he said, suddenly. "Remind us when your birthday is."

He frowned, confused. "Uh, you know it's July 30th Harry. What's that got to do...with..." he trailed off, then froze, remembering.

"The prophecy could have referred to two people. You and me." Harry couldn't stop himself, he just knew that this was something Neville needed to know. "That day, Snape was still one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. He heard the first half of the prophecy before the bartender caught him and threw him out, but it was enough. He told Voldemort the information directly."

Ron and Hermione hadn't heard that particular detail before, even though he'd known it for almost a year. Ron looked apoplectic and Hermione looked like she was going to be sick. He just shook his head as Ron opened his mouth, his eyes pleading for his friend to wait it out.

"So fast-forward and several months later, Neville and I are the only two children whose parents had defied Voldemort on three occasions, and were born at the end of July. He somehow found that information out, and so did Snape." He hesitated here, not knowing how to go about the talk. "Snape begged Voldemort to spare my family." Harry said, quietly. " _Tom_ only said he'd spare my mother. Snape didn't like that, and went to Dumbledore, who sent our families both into hiding."

Harry rubbed his head tiredly, trying to ward off the building headache. "You know what happened next. My parents went under _Fidelius,_ and Peter eventually became Secret Keeper and betrayed them. Voldemort got hit with his rebounded killing curse and spent 13 years wandering about as a spirit." He looks at Neville, sorrowful. "I think Bellatrix knew about the prophecy. When I disappeared along with Voldemort, the rest of them must have hunted down your family trying to find out what happened."

Luna reaches over to Neville's shoulder and rubs it soothingly as his knuckles whitened. Harry was almost surprised the bigger boy hadn't cracked the table from the amount of anger he was trying to keep closed off.

"Dumbledore immediately guessed that Voldemort hadn't been killed. I don't know how he knew, but he did." He licked his lips, looking up at Ron and Hermione. "Part of this is just a guess, but I think Dumbledore set up the fiasco with the Philosopher's Stone as a trap to confirm if he was still alive."

Hermione bolted up in her chair at the thought, opening her mouth, but Harry just raised a hand. "Come on, Hermione. Remember the security measures? A bunch of first years working together literally got past it by themselves. If we tried that same challenge right now it wouldn't even take an hour."

"You're probably right," she almost growled it back, after a moment. "It's hard to believe Dumbledore would just let that happen." Ron looked perturbed, and Hermione noticed, rolling her eyes. "It's alright Ron, your chess-playing was bloody brilliant and we all know it." He managed a weak smile in return, and a nod.

"I think he was confident enough about my mother's magic," Harry said, after a moment, hoping and praying that it was true. The alternative, that Dumbledore had callously manipulated him to near-death at the age of eleven, was too chilling to think about. "Though he probably didn't expect me to land in the hospital wing for a while." He shook his head, moving on.

He shifted his gaze over to Ginny, hoping his eyes were apologetic enough as he started to talk. "Then second year, we had the Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort's teenage diary was used to unseal the basilisk and possess you, Ginny." He lost himself for a moment, remembering the horror upon seeing the ghostly boy's handsome figure explain he was the Dark Lord. "When you were unconscious, he bragged to me a bit. He told me he was a memory of himself, preserved in the diary's enchantments for 50 years." He shrugged. "I didn't know any better at the time, but I should have known it was a lie. Dumbledore knew it instantly, though I'm not really sure how he did know but I have a guess." He looked over to his right. "Hermione? Your guess is probably better than mine."

"Memory doesn't have willpower." said Hermione slowly. "Given what you've told me that makes sense."

Harry nodded. "A memory didn't posses you, Ginny, it's not possible and memory alone is simply too weak to fight against a person's mind. Dumbledore knew it too, he knew that somehow a small piece of Voldemort himself was inside that diary. He told me last year, that that day was the first time he had evidence that Voldemort had done something to change his mortality, to survive the killing curse that hit him when he couldn't kill me." Ginny was pallid and almost trembling, as Harry's words threw her back into her own nightmare while recognizing the full gravity of what had almost happened to her that day.

"Wait a fucking second." Neville jumped in to Harry's monologue, his face pale and voice angry. "You mean even if we hit him with another killing curse or lop off his head, he can just keep coming back to life in new bodies? That he's completely immortal, even if he weakens."

Harry struggled with himself for a moment, but nodded with a grunt. "As it stands right now, that's exactly what it is. Voldemort can be killed again and again, and as long as someone can find his spirit, he can use them to bring himself back to life. The reason we're all here together is so we can undo the magic he's used, and get rid of him for good." He couldn't keep going. Just thinking about all of this was exhausting, talking out loud of the plaguing worries that had twisted his thoughts for weeks. "Hermione, can you explain some more? I'm..." he sighed.

* * *

Hermione felt her heart ache as she watched her friend. He looked so exhausted, as if he was completely drained, reliving his life and past piece by piece, just to explain what they were left to do. Ginny did not look in better shape, having replayed the worst moment of her life and finding out those memories were significantly worse than she had believed. She paused to consider for a moment. All three of the people left were purebloods, so perhaps a children's tale would be good to start it off. She just bit her lip and nodded at Harry, and turned to the others, chewing on chapped flesh and her own thoughts as she pondered how to start.

"Have you ever heard of the wizard's tale of Koschei the Deathless?" she asked, finally, peering at the other three. Neville frowned, his brow folding as he seemed to recognize the _nom de guerre_ , weakly shrugging. Luna, however, sat up straight with her eyes flashing in alarm.

"The Slavic Lich King." She breathed out, attentive. "He led a revolution of ethnic Russians in the 12th century. Daddy used to tell me the story of how he hid his soul inside of a needle, inside of an egg, inside of an Augurey. It's a popular story among dark and pureblood families, especially those near Durmstrang."

Hermione nodded. "The story tale is at least a little bit true." She shuddered a little, remembering the gruesome research she'd done to uncover all of this. "Several thousand years before, there was a Greek wizard by the name of Herpo, the same man who earlier rediscovered how to ritually breed a basilisk. He's got a Chocolate Frog card named Herpo the Foul, modern wizards gave him that name because all his surviving works are the darkest of Black magics. When he was old and exiled, he traveled to Egypt and discovered a ritual used by the Pharoah Amenhotep IV. The King had somehow extracted his soul into a clay jar, and then killed his son, the famous King Tutankhamun, and took over his body with his soul. It was a crude method of immortality." She can see the dawning horror and realization on Neville's face, but she can't stop now. _They need to know everything, and then they'll join. They have to, because knowing what we know now, there's no other choice but to fight to the death._

"Herpo reversed engineered the process and created an improved version, something he called a Horcrux, and wrote down how to make it." She knows the disgust is obvious in her voice, but she can't help it, nor the fear that comes to mind. Even talking about the name of such a horrible creation gives her chills. She can see the helpless fear in the eyes of the others, and a flash of disgust from Luna. They all understand just how truly depraved the practice must have been.

"The Horcrux is an abomination. Killing someone in cold blood damages the soul, anyone with any knowledge of the soul is aware of that. Herpo learned it's possible to entrap the victim's soul and essentially burn it into raw energy to create a backlash, shearing off a portion of the caster's soul. That portion of essence can then be stored in nearly any object to forcibly link the soul to the mortal plane, even when the owner's body is obliterated."

"After the final death of Koschei, Russian wizards scoured the globe to attempt to remove all references to Horcruxes. But Voldemort somehow found Herpo's work, somewhere in Egypt most likely, and decided that he would give himself perfect immortality and an extra boost of power at the same time." Hermione breathed in, deeply, attempting her best but still failing to ignore the horrified expressions on her friend's faces. "He decided that he would cut his soul into seven pieces and hide them, since seven is a number of power in magic. The diary," she paused, and looked at Ginny before charging on. "He made the diary first, at 16, using Moaning Myrtle's death as the catalyst. I suspect the damage to her soul is why she doesn't do anything but cry; she doesn't know _how_ to do anything else. Since then he made several more. Dumbledore discovered one and destroyed it, but not before it cursed him. That's what happened to his hand."

"Y-You're telling me that I was possessed by a teenage shard of V-Voldemort's soul." whispered Ginny, half-stuttering in fear and half-twitching in rage.

"Yes Ginny," said Harry, softly, interjecting. "And there are four more left to find and destroy."

"Then we kill him, for good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Mostly dialogue again, but things will start picking up in a couple chapters. Will warn readers, this is definitely not going to be a Horcrux hunt like in TDH over the long-term. Our crew is powerful, but they're outnumbered and outgunned in a dystopian society that will (hopefully) eventually be worse than Voldemort's control over the Ministry in canon. They're going to need to learn (HINT HINT) and it will not be from anywhere that can be recognized from our lovely but rather miserably annoying JK Rowling (not really sorry).
> 
> Also, only one spell. I gave the refilling charm an incantation. The Geminio spell that Hermione uses to duplicate the bottle is obviously canon, as it was used by Gringotts as security for the Lestrange vault. However I'm not really sure how this spell is both a duplication charm and a burning curse, when really it should only duplicate objects according to the name. I'm working under the assumption that the original charm has to be modified into a curse for its secondary purpose.
> 
> Repleo - Refilling charm. Refills a container by duplicating the liquid it already contains, until the spell is cancelled. Cannot be used to replenish an empty container. Cannot be used to replenish liquids with significant magical properties or enchantments, such as Firewhiskey, potions, or creature byproducts/extracts like basilisk venom.
> 
> .
> 
> .


	9. Dusk/Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And we're back! Sorry if you wanted more action, there's a bit of suspense and mystery in this chapter but the heat hasn't been cranked up yet. Mostly just dialogue, once again. I might be including too much talking in my first fic, but it's been kind of fun to try and write out the characters, much more than I expected. As I've said, I'm basically writing this story on the fly. Chapter 10 will be a sort of interlude, kind of a free-write style thing cutting away from our main characters, but by 11 we'll be back in the midst of adventure mode.
> 
> "§Parseltongue§"
> 
> This fic isn't going to have a lot of Parseltongue in it, but it's obviously a facet of Harry and Voldemort and I kinda like the snake-looking way the silcrow symbol looks, so I'll keep that to help distinguish between spells/thoughts and Parsel.

_"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents._

_We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of the infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."_

_-H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu_

_._

_._

_._

**CH - Dusk/Dawn**

_**July 16th, 1997, ? hours** _

_She never remembers how she ends up in this place_

_year after year,_

_time and time again..._

_It's always because of him. She doesn't know how he's done it, but it's him._

_Even now, nothing's changed. She feels the blackness but doesn't see it, can't move her eyelids or feel if they're there at all. Her eyes may be open, for all she knows, pupils failing to see what was never meant to seen._

_She can't breathe. Everything is empty, but it's so close. It presses down on her like a troll squatting on top of her mind. Suffocating. The nothingness stretches forever and there is no horizon, there never was a beginning or an end._

_This isn't Death, she knows. But maybe it's the closest she'll get until the end really comes. She scrabbles against the numbness of her thoughts, the slower-than-lead feeling of her psyche trying to claw its way to the surface. Like swimming through Stinksap, but far, far worse._

_She knows the Void intimately. It feels just like it did when she was a little girl. Back then, she was nothing. She became hunger, undying flame, infinite thirst, because it is the only way to retain her sanity._

_Slowly, bit by bit, she's burning. There is no body around her, but she can feel the heat. Hot like melted wax, sliding around inside her, trying to keep the darkness at bay. If she had a skull, it would feel like her brain was combusting. Or ablating. It raged at the darkness, encapsulating her like a cocoon, but it never seems enough._

_**"Poor little Ginevra, still fighting with every step."** The voice eats at her, and she shrinks away from the contact._

_It's **him**._

_His voice doesn't come from anywhere, the words just **hit** her as if coming from the darkness itself._

_She grabs them after a moment, angryafraid **angry.** And she burns, eating at him little by little while he struggles. Just like he did to her._

_And then she **breathes,** her lungs protesting as they allow air to enter that body which belongs to her, and no one else. Then the body chokes, tongue crushed against the back of her throat, nearly swallowed. She hacks and sputters, lungs wheezing and gasping for breath, but she knows she's not awake, not really. Her body aches, her head pounds, it feels wrongwrong **wrong**. Nevertheless, she forces herself to look up, peeling her body from the grimy stone floor._

_The clack of his shoes catches her attention first._

_His handsome face is next, and she shudders. She cursed herself and him once more, knowing it futile, watching him smile and knowing he heard it too. His eyes are red. They gleam like rubies and blood._

**_"Always running, fighting."_** _She rolls away from him when he comes close, shying from reaching hands. **"Even when you know you've already lost."**_

_"Don't talk to me like you still know me, sonofabitch." She spits, forcing her herself to stand on one knee. "I almost beat you when I was 11, and I'll do it again."_

**_"Oh, really? Is that why you're still here, stuck in my Chamber? Little Weasley girl...always alone..."_ **

**_"...Except for me."_ **

_"FUCK YOU!" The scream rips from her throat before she can think. It burns, it **burns,** and she can't help but want more, hungry still._

_"You think you're special, Riddle? Just a shred of something once alive, a piece of a little boy whose Mommy and Daddy didn't love him. Couldn't even beat a baby, couldn't beat a boy! You're NOTHING! You couldn't take my soul, you arrogant prick."_

_The smile is maddening, makes her want to rip into his throat and taste blood that will surely taste just like her own. The hunger howls, demanding. She pictures him writhing on the ground of the chamber, wishing she knew what he looked like with his intestines splattered on the stones._

**_"I lost."_ ** _His acknowledgement of failure is so out of character for Voldemort that her anger falters for a moment. He catches it. " **Don't be so shocked."** He purrs, like he's goddamn pleased, and she feels an urge to rip off his lips and shove them down his gullet._

**_"This little boy terrorized your school."_ ** _His lips curl further as he points at himself. **"This little boy became the first to find the Chamber, to achieve immortality, to drive Albus Dumbledore away tail, between his legs, without so much as a complete body for myself. Those successes resulted in failure, however, no matter the little accomplishments. You're correct, I was pathetic. But I made something truly beautiful...and unexpected."**_

_"Oh, really? What would that be, you freak?"_

_He smirks, unperturbed. **"You, of course, little one."**_

_"Oh, are you trying to get into my pants Tom?" She snarks, hand raised as she could feel her magical strength condensing into her palm. Could she use magic in here, wherever this was? She'd never tried, but she'd kill him again if she could. "Get the fuck out, you didn't make me! You tried to break me for your own selfishness. And I'M STILL **HERE**!"_

_He circles her like a predator, and she keeps her eyes glued on him. He's observing her, finding something there, watching her anger and hate and the starved fire crying out for fuel. His eyes are angry, they'd never been angry before. He'd always forced his control over her, and when she tried to fight he would only chuckle and crush her down into herself, leaving her unable to do anything, left to watch the world move around her._

_Something's different this time._

**_"But where is here, little girl? It's all in your head, of course, but why should that mean that this is not real?"_ ** _His smile is all bared teeth, a savage grin that tells her that more is yet to come. **"**_ **_I_ _carry on in you, even when I'm gone."_ ** _His anger boils too, and she feeds on it, burning herself hotter and hotter as the heat seeks to match him. **"Don't you remember, the emptiness when I left you behind? What you became after? Powerful, independent, standing up for yourself even among your filthy brood of brothers..."**_

_"Shut UP! You have nothing on who I am now, little horcrux." She mocks him, baiting him still. She isn't ready._

**_"DO NOT LIE!"_ ** _She flinches at the angry roar, and hates him so much for it that she lunges to smack him. It's no use. Her legs are still weak, folding on themselves. She misses grasping him by an inch as he slides laterally, avoiding her flailing fist. Then his voice comes out as a hiss." **§I am a part of you, little Ginevra!§"**_

_**"** You're a liar, not me!"_

**_"§Then how is it that you can still understand me?"_ **

_"FUCKING DIE ALREADY! YOU WON'T HURT ME AGAIN!" She sobs as she swings at him, ignoring the pain in her limbs as she tries her best to beat him to death. His red eyes flash in harmonious glee and rage, and he raises his head high, calling out._

_**"§SPEAK TO US, SLYTHERIN, GREATEST OF THE HOGWARTS FOUR!§"** _

_nononononononoNONONONONONO_

_And then his hand is on her throat and she can't breathe. Tugged to her knees, forced to stare at blood-red eyes as she peers into his soul, and he into hers._

_He has no breath. She doesn't feel it on her face. She more notices than sees the basilisk as it encircles them, trapping them together._

**_"LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"_ ** _He roared, and she knew she had never seen him so emphatic, so enraged._

_**"Look, foolish girl, and see our masterpiece..."** _

_And when she turns her head, she gasps in fear. The king of serpents is not green, like it should have been. Midnight black surrounds her, so dark that the scales seem to warp the light around them, absorbing everything. The shadows sift around in its presence._

_She doesn't remember the creature looking like this behemoth that now slithered before her, several times more massive than it had been upon waking in Harry's arms. The basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets was a creature of terror - something meant to become an impenetrable line of defence._

_This thing is...something more. Reborn. Hungry._

_It reeks of knowledge she can't understand, of power so untamed that she can do nothing but quiver with a fear she can't comprehend. When the magnificent abomination raises its head, she gasps soundlessly at the crown of copper-red feathers forming the sagittal crest, connected to a circlet around the edges of its skull._

_Wait a second._

_Why does it look like the color of her hair?_

_Then the creature's eyelids open, and flash. Fiery gold ringed with red magic. It dances like flame. The mouth opens and tongue flashes forth, tasting the scent of air that isn't air. The fangs drip black poison and its mouth is twisted like a smile._

**_"§Wake up...Little Devourer...§"_ **

_Then she sees the inside of its mouth draw closer, and then there is nothing but crushing emptiness once more._

* * *

_**July 16th, 1997, 0436 hours** _

Ginny Weasley woke with a choked scream. She heaved herself upright, coughing. The acrid taste of bile crept up her throat. Hastily she spun to the side, her fingers managing to snag her wand from the bedside table.

" _Scourgify_ ," she hissed, pointing the wandtip at her mouth. She let free a grimace of disgust. It tasted like she'd washed out her mouth with minty soap bubbles. _Better than heaving up last night's mead, I s'pose._ Dropping the wand in the tangled sheets, she fell back onto the bed with a moan, staring at her new bedroom, trying to let the nightmare pass over her. It didn't really work.

Their bedrooms had appeared in the hallway that branched off from the right side of the new Room of Requirement. Three on either side of the hall, with two shared bathrooms, and one large doorway that Harry had declared a "surprise for another time." Ginny had pouted and tried to wrench open the door, but found that he'd requested the Room keep it locked for now. To her dismay, not even an _Alohomora or Aberto_ could budge it. Usually she wasn't much for surprises, at all. Being surprised by a talking piece of evil soul inside a diary had been enough, thanks very much.

But upon placing her hand on the bedroom doorknob, a sign with her name had popped into existence, right on top of the door. Her new living quarters were a tremendous surprise - an excellent one. Structurally, it was identical to her room in the Burrow. These wooden walls were newer though, unblemished by years of scratches and childish misuse. She'd painted her old room in the Burrow bright pink when she was 10. These walls were a deep mulberry-purple, the colors rich and soothing. Tiny images of brooms and Quaffles danced in shining gold along the planks. Somehow, the Room of Requirement had even copied her posters of The Weird Sisters and Gwenog Jones. It made her feel comfortable, and she stared at the sparkling gold between the open curtains of the four-poster bed.

Her heart slowed. When she could barely feel it pounding anymore, she heaved herself up, grabbing her wand to throw a _tempus_ at the nearest wall and summon a bathrobe into her fist. She padded to the door and walked out to the hallway, aching for a hot shower and knowing she couldn't go back to sleep.

The bathroom was divine, a smaller and more ornate replica of the one she used in Gryffindor Tower. The steaming hot water cleansed and soothed. It felt different than it used to, she wasn't quite sure if she liked it. Her skin was flushed, but she hadn't felt the scalding pain of hot water in months. There was only the dueling sensations of paradoxical cold and burning warmth. Almost involuntarily, she let out a sigh that turned into a half-moan as she rolled the tightly corded muscles in her shoulder, rubbing them loose. She closed her eyes and let the water cascade over her face in a flood of heat, trying in vain to burn away the image of Tom Riddle's disgusting smirk from behind her eyelids.

Stepping from the shower stall wrapped in a towel, she paused to stare at herself in the mirror. The image that stared back at her was hazy and blurred. _Maybe it's fogged over._ She grabbed her wand and muttered a quick _"tergeo,"_ trying to wipe condensation off the glassy surface, wanting a good look at herself. To her confusion, nothing happened. Tangled red hair and pink skin look back at her like a gelatinous cartoon, glaring back almost mockingly.

When the answer for her confusion finally hit her, she emitted a sad hiss of annoyance and futile disappointment.

_Mirrors are glass backed with reflective metal._ _Only charm-enchanted and potion-treated silver mirrors can properly reflect the image of a vampire._ She tries to be analytical, like Hermione is. _This is an alloy surface...meant for humans, so it can't reflect what I look like._

It doesn't really help.

Once upon a time she would be standing there searching her reflection for developing curves, fixing up zits on her skin, spending an hour dolling up her hair and makeup, or worrying incessantly about her freckles. Now she was different. Battle and two fangs in her throat had made sure of that. She'd outed herself to some of the people who mattered most. In those three long months it took to reconcile with the concept of no longer being human, she had barely once wanted to look at herself. _This_ made no difference. No answers, only new questions. She knew only what she was not, and the emptiness was all that remained. Adrift and alone, floundering to find something solid to ground her identity. Just like the Void.

_Maybe I am going mad..._

She settled for a sleeveless top and underwear, wrapping herself tight in the long bathrobe as she walked out into the Room's common space. It's still too early. The elves would respond if she asked them, she supposed, but she didn't want food. The bile in her stomach and the itching in her throat would come back full force, and any awry thoughts would overturn her weak stomach. Her hunger was different. Something comforting, perhaps. Blood would be nice, she supposed, but a bit awkward to ask of the castle's house elves. Maybe she'd consult Dobby on the protocol for that later. Hot chocolate might be best. She'd want to grab a mug and curl up in front of the fireplace with a book, waiting until the others arrived.

Thus she was surprised to find that the Room wasn't empty.

Harry lay on a two-seater near the fire, sprawled partially on his side, dead asleep. His left arm was curled up under his head, resting against the arms of the loveseat. His hair practically was a birds nest of bedhead, sticking up horribly in the back. He looked calm and peaceful.

A deceptive appearance, of course. He had gone to sleep in his new bedroom last night. If he was lying down here, he'd obviously failed to get a good rest. _Another thing we share in common,_ Ginny thought bitterly, _along with a history of bad luck and Tom. S_ he knelt low to stroke her fingers over his locks, soothingly, then decisively stood and gently sat down next to him on the couch.

Always a light sleeper, Harry's eyelids fluttered as the loveseat cushions shifted. He tensed at first, obviously noting her proximity, but relaxed as he opened his eyes and gave her a drowsy half-smile. She made no comment, but her blood boiled at his obvious discomfort just seconds ago, and she cursed the Dursley's once more for not treating him right. _Though I wouldn't be much better after a nightmare either..._

"Hey," he murmured, voice still husky from sleep. With a groan he shifted up, leaning back into the cushions and masking a yawn. "Wha' time is it?"

"Almost 5." She runs her hand through his hair again. The slow repetitive movement soothed her as much as it did him. "How long have you been out here, Harry?"

"Dunno." Barely a whisper and a sigh. He's quiet, brooding like always. For good reason. "Tom had a meeting last night, slaughtered some muggles because he was mad about his troops not being able to catch a bunch of kids." His green eyes are dim and bitter and she chokes down the lump in her throat, leaning in to leave a kiss next to the inflamed red scar on his forehead. _Small comfort. I wish I could really help him._ She wraps her arms around him, pulling him close.

"If you're here then you didn't sleep any better than me." His voice vibrates into her ear from where she's leaning against his shoulder. She can't help how she tenses slightly at his words, used to the complaining from her roommates or their nagging to talk about it, as if they had ever cared.

_Harry is empathy, not sympathy,_ she reminded herself with a sigh. He wraps an arm around her in turn, matching her hug, always somehow able to sense her dilemma.

There is a moment of hesitation, before the silence breaks.

"Just old nightmares...Tom, the Chamber." She swallowed. "Bad dream, that's all. Nothing horrible or painful, just different...unsettling, y'know?" His arm squeezes her and Ginny remembers the first time he'd ever held her, inside the subject of her nightmares. There are no tears but she sniffles for a moment anyway, as if trying to clear her unease. "Yesterday's talk hit me harder than I expected, I guess."

"I shouldn't be surprised that you have nightmares about that. You could've told me." An agonizing silence spreads for an instant while he flounders for his words. "I'm sorry."

Ginny frowns. "And what exactly are you apologizing for, Potter?" The words come out a little more heatedly than she wants, but to her relief he doesn't seem affected.

"For all of it. I should've seen how you were alone and isolated, I should've known something was wrong when I picked up that diary in the bathroom." His misery is palpable. She's incredulous, wondering how he could possibly blame himself all the time for everything that had ever gone wrong. _Fucking Dursleys._ The Chamber of Secrets mess was _her_ fault _._

"In case you forgot, Harry, I stole the diary back from you. And _I'm_ the one who grew up with magical parents, I should've known the diary was suspicious. Dad said as much when you brought me to Dumbledore's office that day." She looked up to give him a pouting glare, daring him to contradict her again. "If anything, I'm sorry that I never really thanked you for saving my life, even last year. I just..." Ginny breaks off, with a sigh.

"Talking about it makes it real," he says, morose. "I get it, you know."

"No, I think...I wanted to believe that I was over it." She counters slowly, contemplative. "I never wanted to forget it Harry, you risked yourself for me. We didn't know anything about Horcruxes, but even as a kid I knew you did a good thing by getting rid of Tom. But not talking about it to you...well I thought I proved to myself that he didn't matter anymore. I was wrong."

"The diary's gone now, Ginny, destroyed."

"Harry," she says hesitantly. "I know it is. But do me a favor and remember that these aren't objects. They _are_ Tom Riddle, little bits and pieces of him. They are _alive_. I...I don't know how to explain it. The mind isn't supposed to interact with other souls. When it was happening, I never remembered anything besides the blackouts." She paused, and decided to soldier on. She'd never told _anyone_ what she was about to say. Not Ron, not Hermione or Luna...but Harry deserved to know. "Later on I started to dream of the memories, things Tom said when I was asleep, conversations we'd have in our minds, what it felt like when he took control..." She shuddered against Harry's shoulder, his squeezing warmth easily keeping her revulsion at bay.

"You have to understand. They're not just trinkets that give him immortality, Harry. They are him, and he is them. Even if you can't remember, he whispers in your head."

Harry's answering sigh is miserable and Ginny can't help as tears prick her eyes. _Great, first time you're alone with your ex and you're having this absolutely depressing conversation about our mortal enemy._

"When you put it like that," he finally grumbles. "It's a wonder we weren't having more nightmares." A poignant pause. "Do you really think we can do this?

"We will." She speaks up, not knowing where it comes from, but vehement against his misery ( _and hers, because don't they come from the same place?_ ), aware that she means it from the heart. "We have to. I'll help you, and so will everyone else, and we'll work until we drop dead. Even if it takes a decade to find all the pieces of his soul and kick his scaly arse."

"When did you get so confident?" He mutters, heartened and a little amused.

"When you risked your life to destroy a Horcrux and save an 11-year-old idiot who put her elbow in the butter dish." She mutters weakly, grinning into his arm. "Now shut up and cuddle, Harry."

* * *

_**July 16th, 1997, 0820 hours** _

"We need to talk about what we're doing while we're here," said Hermione Granger several hours later, frowning as she pushed her plate aside and munched on her remaining piece of toast. The five others sat at the main table, in various states of dress and undress, eating plates provided by a giddy Dobby. She'd been a little annoyed at the House-elf's obvious pleasure at serving them, but to her knowledge he was still getting a salary (even if it was only a Galleon a month). To Hermione's observant eyes, Harry and Ginny looked particularly tired, yet relaxed. She had woken up early by habit, and found the pair curled up on a couch. She knew he didn't often sleep well, had heard enough from Ron over the years to know how his scar bothered him at night, and how his nightmares would fill the space when Voldemort did not. Ginny's presence by his side was a bit of a surprise, to be sure, but welcome **.** Their dynamic confused her, especially now after they'd agreed to part ways at Dumbledore's funeral, not expecting to see each other for some time. But the short moment of shared pain and comfort together after such a sleepless night was enviable.

Harry was a natural leader and teacher in ways he didn't even notice. He had guided them last night with ease, even when the memories were painful. But at a time like this he was tired and needed help, Hermione was happy to give it. So she resolved to talk first, give them all a direction to start in.

"Um, Hermione, I thought we covered that pretty clearly last night." Ron looked bemused from the side and she rolled her eyes. Neville was barely eating, just watching the conversation and chewing slowly. Luna was somehow shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth without so much as looking down at her plate, choosing to stare off at the map near the table instead. Hermione continued with her point, trying to banish her worries over the sanity of their friends.

"Yes, of course, but which Horcruxes are left? When and where were they made, and where could they be hidden? We can't go around waving our wands over every square inch of Britain hoping to find one."

Ron just scratched his head, looking puzzled over to Harry, who was already slowly shaking his head. "Didn't Dumbledore tell you what they all were, at least?"

"Someone stole the locket, and Dumbledore died the same night we found _that_ out. He also suspected the Hufflepuff Cup, but he had no clues about it. Nagini is always by Voldemort's side, his creepy familiar, so that'll have to wait. The last one...I don't think Dumbledore ever had a clue."

"Oy," Ginny grumbled from the side, dropping her glass of pumpkin juice with a heavy _clunk_ and giving her _ex-boyfriend? (boyfriend?)_ a glare. "For those of us not in the Golden Trio, mind explaining without half-sentences?"

Harry looked utterly flabbergasted. " _Golden Trio?_ " he muttered, incredulous, obviously disturbed as he fixed her with a bemused stare. "Wha-"

"Harry, _enough_ , they used to call us that for all the nonsense we'd get up to in this castle." Hermione bemoaned. _He really is so oblivious of gossip, except when it's in the Prophet._ "Just go over how Dumbledore knew what they were and what they are."

"Er...right" He did that thing where he somehow scratched his head and messed up his hair at the same time, and she ruthlessly crushed down the urge to pat him on the head like a little brother. "Last year, Dumbledore showed me memories from himself and other people that show parts of Voldemort's early life and what the Horcruxes might have been. Starting from the day Dumbledore gave him his Hogwarts letter, in an orphanage" He frowned after a second, considering. "Tom was powerful, dangerous even then. I might get into the Headmaster's office later and see if all the memories are still there."

"Anyway, important note is that Tom Riddle liked trophies, especially from his past or his victims." Harry looked extremely discomfited, and Hermione wondered how odd, how horrible it would be to see one's worst enemy slowly becoming a monster, one that would grow to orphan him. "The first horcrux Dumbledore was sure about was a ring that belonged to Tom's grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt, an heirloom that had been passed down. He learned that Voldemort took it the same night he killed his muggle family, and framed his crazy uncle for the murder. Dumbledore eventually found it and destroyed it in the Gaunt house, and that's when his hand got cursed. As Chief Warlock, he took a memory from a Ministry official from years before Riddle was born. Long story short, it showed the ring, but that same house also had something that Voldemort wanted, to prove he was an heir to Slytherin. A locket, passed down in the family that belonged to Salazar himself. But when Voldemort questioned his uncle Morfin about it years later, Riddle found out that his mother Merope had stolen it when she ran away with Tom Riddle Snr, long before she died, and sold it to Borgin and Burke's." He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts for where the story should go next.

"When Riddle graduated Hogwarts he went around for a couple of months and eventually went to work at Borgin and Burke's, basically working as a collector of artifacts for them. He eventually found out that a descendant of Hufflepuff, an old witch named Hepzibah Smith, had bought the locket, as well as an artifact from her own family, a magical goblet created by Hufflepuff herself. He killed her and framed her decrepit house-elf, and disappeared for nearly a decade until he later came to Dumbledore to apply for the DADA position. Dumbledore thinks that when he refused Voldemort, he jinxed the position. Probably why we haven't had a DADA professor ever last more than a year."

There was silence for a moment, as they digested that Tom Riddle had been truly ruthless and a kleptomaniac, even barely older than them. Hermione's stomach roiled at the idea of casually murdering an old woman and stealing from her. Neville broke the silence.

"You said Dumbledore died the same night you found out that someone stole the locket," he said, leaning forward. "That's why you left the castle with him that night? To see if you could find the horcrux? Luna guessed yesterday before we met, that we would have to finish what you and Dumbledore started that night," he says, with a weak grin. "Shit, we were right..."

"Yeah," Harry sighed out, looking miserable. "There was a cave, near the orphanage where Tom lived. He used to torture the muggles who bullied him. Later he used it to hide the horcrux, and filled it with all sorts of creepy defences and a lake full of Inferi. Someone, probably a Death Eater, bypassed the defenses, replaced the locket with a fake. He left a note signed in his initials that made it sound like he was going to be killed soon. I have the note and the fake locket somewhere in my trunk. We're going to have to hunt down whoever took it to make sure it's destroyed. I didn't even know that it was a fake until after Dumbledore died." He grimaced. "We thought we'd found the real thing, for a second."

"So the locket, the cup, and the snake. One more that Professor Dumbledore never figured out. All of them, except the snake, are lost." Luna murmured all sing-song and dreamy, drumming her fingers against the stone in a deceptively upbeat rhythm.

"Bollocks," Ron cursed, shoving his plate away and looking sick. "This could take forever. Dumbledore didn't know anything and he just _fucking_ died, using Snape to off himself. What a bloody git." Hermione warred between amusement and concern at Ron's sudden lack of appetite, and the vitriol towards a Headmaster he'd looked up to. She couldn't remember ever hearing him, or any Weasley for that matter, say a bad word about the bearded headmaster.

"Answers will come in time," Luna said, frowning as she pulled her wand from somewhere in her hair. "No use in blaming those already passed."

"It'll take time." Hermione acknowledged that fully. She'd come to terms with it over the past summer, knowing that her dreams of education, liberating other magical races, and changing the government's prejudice from the inside might have to wait for many, many years. "But that's why we have to be smart. There's plenty of important tasks we can do to help ourselves and other people while we search. More importantly, it'll probably be useless if we're all constantly trying to brainstorm ideas on what the last horcrux might be. We have our main goal, but if all of Wizarding Britain goes to hell and people are constantly getting killed before we finish this, or if some of us get hurt or...die...then everything we do here will all be for nothing."

The silent resolve of her friends surrounds her, and Hermione dared to hope that it wouldn't end the way she'd said. Of course, this was also the moment she began thinking furiously. The idea of separating into separate tasks had appealed to Hermione last night as they sat at this very table, but there had only been minimal thought process in terms of who would do what. To her surprise, Ginny broke the silence, speaking up first.

"Hermione, we all know you're going to do research," she said, a small grin on her face. "I think you should work with Luna."

_Are you kidding me?_ Hermione was ashamed of her first thought a second later. Luna was extremely skilled and perceptive, always seeing things in her own way. The girl always seemed to know things she shouldn't possibly know. _I learned not to discount her once already, and I won't forget that._

"I know you've read plenty," Hermione said slowly, opening up to the idea. "Would you like to help me? It'll be a lot of work, and not just limited to horcruxes. There's a lot of magic we need to go over before we have any chance of surviving on the run."

Luna looked incredulous for a moment, as if she couldn't believe Hermione would ever want her help in the realm of knowledge. Ginny looked a little annoyed at her friend.

"Come on, Luna, don't put yourself down," the redhead spoke with a frown. "We _all_ know you're more than just book-smart like other Ravenclaws." She addressed Hermione then. "She doesn't advertise it much, but she probably knows more about old history and legends and obscure magic than anyone else I've ever met. It might be a huge help for the horcruxes, not to mention everything else."

Hermione just smiled, hiding her inner fury at her friend's insecurity and catching the abashed giddiness in Luna's eyes at being praised. _Fucking Ravenclaw girls are such cunts, if I wasn't on a most-wanted list I'd give them all the Edgecombe treatment and see how they like it._ "Let's do this, I'd love to have your help."

"Thank you." the blonde girl said softly. "I'll find a Snarglepuff to get you some pudding after lunch." Hermione just grinned.

"I have a few things I need to do." Harry spoke suddenly, and Hermione turned to see her friend staring blankly at the table. _Something is really bothering him,_ she frowned, considering. "I'll practice defence again, like the DA. But I need to do research too..." He trailed off, looking awkward and almost ashamed. She felt her stomach squirm at his expression. "...but that's not enough. We need more offensive magic. We can't duel like kids."

"Fuck, mate. We practically _are_ kids." Hermione stared in shock at Ron's outburst, and became aware her mouth was open with his next words. "Oy, stop gaping 'Mione, you know what I mean. We lasted 5 minutes against Death Eaters in the DOM, barely held on long enough for the Order last year. You want to drill us, teach us to really fight together." Ron calmly laid out the facts like pieces on a chess board, and Hermione once again admired him for surprising her and seeing the big picture. _If only he hadn't been so single-mindedly focused on Quidditch and chess until mortal peril arrives._ She snorted to herself slightly, almost missing Harry's response.

"Yeah I do. Teamwork, speed, and magic. The DA only ever studied magic, and only the bare basics for OWLs. We need more than that - even Dark magic, if we need it."

Neville _growled,_ looking angrier than Hermione had seen since that day he'd thrown himself at Malfoy for a not-so-subtle jab at his parents. "I'm NOT using Dark magic, Harry. I refuse to be like _them."_

"Then what do you want!" Harry barked back, green eyes blazing. "Do you want to win, or die? Would you rather hit Death Eaters with Jelly-legs Jinxes and Stunning spells, and then watch as their friends just wave a wand and put them back to rights? They'll turn around hit you in the back with a Killing Curse and there'll be nothing you can do to save _anyone_!"

Her head swung between her friends, wide-eyed and watching the quiet battle between their two gazes like the back-and-forth of a tennis match.

"There has to be a better way than just turning dark! We're not cowards, hurting other people for our own gain." Stubborn and disgusted, Neville gave no ground. Hermione, ever-logical, couldn't make heads or tails of the debate. _What do I want? I've studied dark books and magic for weeks. Blood magic is illegal, but my father used it to save my life, even if against my will. Dark magic is technically the only way to destroy a horcrux. And Harry's right, we can't win with stunners. but..._

" _ **ENOUGH!** "_

No one in the room had ever heard Luna Lovegood raise her voice.

Hermione felt the chill in her bones, as if the dreamy girl's magic had suddenly twisted to compel everyone to listen, to remain still. _And maybe it did._ Like a hoarfrost snap, both the angry boys froze in their seats, staring at the otherwise always-happy girl in disbelief and a good bit of fear.

"We've heard the story of your first year and the troll plenty of times. If Ron had levitated the club a bit higher and crushed its skull, is _Wingardium Leviosa_ suddenly Dark magic?" Neville opened his mouth, but Luna cut him off. He never had a chance. "No. In fact, he's out of control. He'd have done more damage than he meant to. We can't replace Dumbledore, Neville. We're not strong enough to do what he did and offer mercy to everyone along our path. It would be better to fight the troll face-first, intending to hurt it until it stops, rather than praying for a solution. We can't afford luck anymore. We've got to make our own."

"But-"

"Nev," Harry sighs. "I get it. When-" He stopped and cast Ginny a _look_ , frowning. "When I was in the Chamber of Secrets with that Horcrux all those years ago, Voldemort told me that we were similar. Both parselmouths, both orphans, wanting to right the wrongs that happened to us, trying to make things better." His gaze was far off, reminiscing.

"I asked Dumbledore about it later that day after it was over, scared out of my wits that I'd become just like him. He told me 'It is our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities.' I'm no expert, but I know Dark magic is about intent. We'll fight when we need to, but I know that everyone in this room is a good person and a good friend. We don't enjoy hurting people like he does, like the Lestranges do." He looked at Neville pointedly. "It's how you choose to use it that counts."

"He's right. Three of us in this room would be stripped of their human rights and declared Dark creatures if the Ministry had known of us last year. Were we evil then? There's no Ministry anymore anyway, no laws for us to care about." Luna was not angry anymore, but rather like a crocodile under calm waters. "We only follow the rules of nature, magic, and the mandate to help those who can't help themselves. It's our choice to fight to incapacitate or hurt anyone, especially Death Eaters who'd love to kill others because they're helpless muggles or because they were born from _filthy_ blood."

The awkward quiet is deafening in the aftermath of the rant. Hermione is startled to recognize that she was violently chewing on her lips while watching the conversation take place. Ginny is stone-faced, arms crossed as she watches the drama play out. She suspects that of all of them, Ginny is the least likely to care about methodology. Ron had quietly unloaded to Hermione last night, and how he'd come to terms with his horrified shock at seeing his little sister tear out a Death Eater's throat with her teeth in a calculated bout of rage. Speaking of which, he'd sunk low in his chair, contemplating with a frown as he idly toyed with the few remaining scraps of scrambled eggs on his plate. Neville's angry expression finally breaks, meeting Harry's nervous eyes and Luna's determined glare.

"I trust you," he muttered, sullen, pushing straw-blonde hair away from his eyes. "One step too far...and you'll see much worse than that first year who wanted to stop you three from losing us the House Cup."

"Checks and balances," Hermione interrupted suddenly, giving Neville an assuring nod. "Luna and I might fall too deep into the books too...that's why we want to split up tasks. I agree."

"On that note, I need to mention the other thing I was going to say." Harry grimaced as he looked at Ginny, apologetic. A moment's breath. "I think we need to explore the entirety of the Chamber of Secrets."

Ginny _hissed_ her anger at Harry, and Hermione froze in fear as the redhead's eyes flared a brilliant gold. Next to her Ron sucked in a sharp breath of air, looking queasy.

" _Harry..."_

"Gin, listen to me," he said, putting his hand on hers. The girl tensed and only bared her teeth, and he flinched away just slightly as they all saw her face. Fangs extending down, gleaming ivory-white. Hermione winced as he plunged on, ignoring the obvious sight before him. "The horcruxes can only be destroyed by basilisk venom and Fiendfyre, as far as we know. We have a ready supply of venom down there. On top of that, the basilisk is extremely valuable. Its skin is stronger than most dragon scales, and its parts are some of the rarest of any creature. We can use it to make spell-resistant material - maybe even weapons and armor, and we can sell parts we can't use if we need money, rather than sneaking into Gringotts."

"There's more than that, too. I think there's a secret passage that leads into the Forbidden Forest. And it was Slytherin's secret hideaway - there may be lost books and knowledge down there, things Tom didn't take with him because he thought himself the only one capable of entering. There might even be important information from his past - or even another horcrux hidden down there, that the diary didn't know about." He finished, pleadingly.

"Then I'm coming with you." She spits, red hair flaring in the sunlight from the windows, eyes burning with poorly suppressed anger.

"Ginny, no-" Ron speaks weakly, looking up. She cuts him off while his mouth is still open.

"Shut up. I _need_ to make peace with this, big brother, and I'm not letting Harry go in there alone."

"We'll go together at first, try to clear out or deactivate any traps or curses," Hermione placates, coming up with the obvious compromise. "There could definitely be something dangerous down there." She's hoping and praying that she can read enough to get that done safely. "Ron, did Bill ever show you any detection and counter-spells from his work as cursebreaker?"

He nodded slowly. "Aye, he did. I can help show you what to look for too."

"Then it's settled. For the first run, we'll go down there together. After that Harry, if you need to harvest the basilisk corpse or find anything else down there, you'll be fine with just one other person or yourself."

"Um, I hate to say this, but you sure there isn't another snake down there?" Neville frowns. Harry stiffens, and clearly he didn't even consider that. Hermione rolls her eyes, but shakes her head decisively.

"Basilisks behave like the king cobra. Unlike most snakes they require a mother's magic and bond, and a nest in order to hatch in the wild. A basilisk that old wouldn't have laid any new eggs for hundreds of years, it would have been hibernating until Tom opened the Chamber again. It's possible to use magic to hatch a dormant egg but otherwise they won't even twitch. If there's eggs down there..."

_We could hatch them._ The thought is unspoken, but thoroughly disturbing nonetheless. Harry could control them, like Voldemort did for Nagini. She wonders how big it would grow, and then snorts. The rest of the table looks at her in confusion.

"Sorry, just...I was thinking if Harry hatched a basilisk and it started hissing at him saying _Mommy_."

Ron gaped while Neville and Luna immediately guffawed their amusement. Ginny's lips twitched. Harry was flabbergasted.

"We'll deal with that if it comes to it." He grinned awkwardly. "That's all I was thinking about working on, I could help read if you two need it also."

"I'll do anything related to Herbology, or creatures stuff and potions ingredients if we need." Neville offered up. "Gran had a secret garden and I grabbed all of the plants as I left. I've got enough fluxweed and knotgrass for weeks of Polyjuice, and lots of other stuff too."

"I'll help you catalogue it and shelve it. Along with all those ingredients over there, and we can stock up on healing potions just in case, maybe borrow from Pomfrey's storage." Ginny said, looking up and finally breaking from her anger. She waved her hand at the shelves near the Slytherin corner of the room. "Aside from Hermione I'm the best potions brewer." She turns to Harry. "That Prince book of Snape's is still in here, right? It'll come in handy."

Hermione shrieks a little and _everyone_ jumps up in surprise, as the book seems to fall from the ceiling and lands on the table with a dusty _thud._ The battered copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ lies on the table, almost mockingly.

"Erm, thanks, Hogwarts?" says Ginny, hesitantly, picking it up. "That wasn't creepy at all."

Ron finally broke from his stewing in the corner. "I don't know how much help I'll be, but I can work with you on the spellwork Harry. Maybe we can find an old Auror Manual and adapt some practices or something." He frowns, laying down his fork. "Luna, you said something that bugs me. You said three of us would be dark creatures according to the Ministry." It's a statement, not a question, but he's obviously fishing for an answer. Hermione frowns. _Luna had said that, hadn't she?_

The girl blinks, and her dreamy eyes widen. "Oh, sorry Ronald, I was so excited I must have forgotten to mention it? My blood test at Gringotts said that I have Fae blood somewhere in my ancestry."

Neville choked and sputtered midway through a sip of pumpkin juice. "The Fae are _real?_ " Then he broke off, realizing he was sitting at the table with a vampire and half-elf. _Too much crazy within the span of only a few days...dark soul magic, different magical races...what the hell are our lives coming to...?_

Hermione just gazes at the girl in wonder, trying and failing to process her confusion and curiosity. "Yeah, you should've mentioned that." She realizes a second late her voice sounds dazed, but presses on. "That could explain how you see things we don't, actually. I wonder how that works..."

Ron's mouth is agape again. The poor guy probably had had too many shocks, before snapping out of it. "Because t _hat_ clears it up. Shit." He muttered, amazed, but cleared his throat. "Anyway, if you teach me those disguise spells I can go out and get news too, maybe even see if I can talk to anyone from the Order."

Ginny growls at him again. "Don't be stupid, you're not going anywhere outside this castle."

"You can't stop me," he groaned with a frown. "And I'm not being stupid. We _need_ to know what's happening, at least to be prepared when we have to leave this place in a month or so."

"Ron," Hermione said suddenly, a thought coming into her head. "How well do you know Knockturn Alley?"

"Um, Hermione, what could you _possibly_ want Ron to do in Knockturn Alley?" Harry looked aghast. "I've been there before, it's all just criminal underground and nasty artifacts."

"Basilisk parts are nasty stuff," she countered with a huff. "And I've been there too, I got the mead there after all. Come on, Harry, we _are_ criminals now, fugitives of the Ministry. Do you think we could just walk into Slug and Jiggers and try to sell them parts of a 5X class beast without questions? What about wands? Ollivander's gone, maybe even dead. What are we supposed to do if we lose a wand in a fight, or it breaks?" She paused, observing them. _Thankfully they're not too against the idea. What if..._

"What if I told you that Hannah Abbott is in disguise, and working as a bartender in the White Wyvern?"

Neville goes pale instantly as Ginny shoots him a glance. He looks sick, and manages to croak out his disbelief. " _Hannah's_ working at the White Wyvern?"

"I saw her yesterday, I wanted to see if I could find a wandmaker and accidentally stumbled upon her while working. I recognized her through the disguise and left her an altered DA coin that can send messages both ways, and a note so she knew it was me. If anyone knows about secrets and places to go in Knockturn, it's a bartender."

"You're a bloody genius Hermione." Ron grins. "Aye, it might be strange thing to get used to, but I can try to talk to her."

"Wands and holsters too, that's what you were thinking, right Hermione?" Harry leans forward. "It'd be good to have a faster draw, easier to deal with. Moody always complained about putting them in your back pockets." He snorted. "Said it could blow off your arse."

Giggles and laughter all around put them at ease for a moment.

"We can work out the kinks in that idea, but I think that works out just fine." Ron finally looked comfortable, and Hermione realized with a jolt that the redhead had felt worried that he wouldn't be useful. _Always trying to live up to something else - he doesn't get it yet, does he? How different he already is?_ She's wrenched from the thought as Harry stands and his plate vanishes with a _pop_.

"Let's settle in and started, then." Harry grimaced. "We've all got a lot to do, and not nearly enough time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hope you liked that little dream sequence, there's a good chance it'll become more important as we move forward. I'll have written up part of Chapter 10 and 11 by the time this gets posted. I don't want to spoil 10 yet, but in 11 we'll have some more discussions of ideas with Snape (should I include Dumbledore's Last Will and Testament and have Snape take care of it?), maybe idle moments while the crew gets to work, and hopefully I can start up on the first expedition into the Chamber of Secrets.
> 
> Something will be found down there but I haven't fully decided on what exactly, if you've got a suggestion then send a review and I'll definitely consider it. That goes also for what Harry eventually uses the basilisk corpse for. I almost definitely won't have a baby basilisk though, just wanted to poke fun at snake-mommy Harry.
> 
> No new spells this time.
> 
> .
> 
> .


	10. Interlude - Dark Stars Beneath Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey everyone, quick interlude and a sneak peek into my version of Voldemort before I start to dive into the Chamber of Secrets and other escalations. I'd like to write him as a full-fledged character, and a powerful and cunning enemy. That he doesn't get such treatment in canon can only be excused by horcruxes driving him insane, but that's still a bad excuse. Don't worry - he's definitely not right in the head, but he won't be murderous to the point of stupid.
> 
> I also don't like the idea that creating so many horcruxes drove him insane. If the main soul shard in his body is chained to the mortal plane by each individual horcrux, then they must be connected on some level. Otherwise killing him would result in the main piece of soul dying off or merging with another piece, while the remaining horcruxes just float around. That this doesn't happen implies that they are connected as a whole soul on some level even though it remains in pieces. It is the physical and metaphysical distance between them that eats away at his humanity, not the fact that only part of the soul remains. As such he should only be a bit batshit, not absolutely and nonsensically crazy. Furthermore, I'll eventually provide an alternate explanation for why he looks like a snake (some of it will still be due to horcruxes, but not everything. We won't get to that in this chapter, but eventually).
> 
> Also, Tom Riddle's timeline is getting some minor adjustments from canon to ensure my timeline goes how I want it. I have Riddle starting Hogwarts in Fall '37 instead of a year later like he originally did. This way he's graduated and employed by 1945 (you'll see why this matters). In real life the Battle of Britain and the Blitz seem to have happened all throughout the Hogwarts year, starting and ending right about the same time classes would have. He might have seen the very beginning of it, but that's it. I adjusted it to happen a couple months earlier, starting during the summer holidays. This is fiction, I can do whatever I want (*cue evil laughter*).
> 
> This chapter gets pretty graphic. Just FYI and a heads up. Flashbacks from the WWII-era are generally not going to be happy business.
> 
> Completely random, the Netflix show the first quote below comes from is superb and wildly mind-bending, highly recommend a binge. It's in German, but hey, that's what subtitles are for.

" _Man is a strange creature. All his actions are motivated by desire, his character forged by pain._

_As much as he may try to suppress that pain, to repress his desire, he cannot free himself from the eternal servitude to his feelings._

_For as long as the storm rages within him, he cannot find peace._

_Not in life, not in death._

_And so he will do what he must, day in, day out._

_The pain is his vessel, desire his compass. It is all that man is capable of._ "

\- _Baran bo Odar & Jantje Friese, DARK_

.

.

.

**CH - Interlude - Dark Stars Beneath Sand**

It had been decades since he'd felt truly afraid. He had begun to forget what it felt like. Here, standing in a desert thousands of miles away from his foes, in a place long forgotten by the races of earth, he _**remembered**_.

The man who had once been Tom Riddle remembered how it felt to die. He recalled _**panic**_. His stomach dropping out from under him as he perceived the magic surrounding the toddler. Mouth opening in a scream his own Killing Curse flew toward him. The _**pain**_ , not so much real as it was metaphysical. Obliteration, piece by piece, his very being crushed into nothing. Then there was only the aftermath, empty and aimless, no more than a wraith adrift amongst dust and ashes and debris.

That was not fear. His mind settled, though his body was nonexistent. His horcruxes had done their work admirably, he knew. What would have otherwise become a pitiful end was simply a massive hiatus in his plans. Logically, he could not have died. Though his new existence was barely a half-life, and while there remained a niggling dread that he would be stuck in this form forever, he would ensure his own return. He was still Lord Voldemort. That single moment of horrible alarm had been a reaction to the unforeseen, the result of his own arrogance, the inability to grasp the concept of his own defeat. Foolish and pathetic.

_Arrogance_. Even as the weak orphan boy Tom, he had recognized his hubris, and foolishly thought it justified. Dumbledore had been the first to bring it in check, via the literally fiery display of strength that had come alongside his Hogwarts letter. That day he had first learnt fear. The truth became clear. His pride, while valuable, was worth nothing to a society of magic-users who all knew more than he did.

Fear, Tom Riddle discovered, was not equivalent to panic, or nervousness, or anxiety. It did not come one second and fade away in the next. Rather, it was constant in its attempts to eat away at the mind. To him, fear was an evaluation, a warning sign of danger he had no power over. He did his research, scoured the limits of magic, pondered and looked for the weaknesses and strengths of wizards. But having seen Dumbledore and the magic he wielded, even after his thorough search he understood that he was not strong enough, not yet. And therein lay his fear: that until he held enough power, he would be weak, vulnerable, and alone, in a world where many of the inhabitants would have power over him. Just like the muggles in the orphanage.

Tom Riddle did not learn to fear muggles until years later, not until August of 1940. He hated them already, of course. He had for as long as he could remember, before he ever knew what set him apart from them. He'd known of the war quite early. Whether muggle or wizard, everyone did. But when the older boys at Wool's Orphanage scorned the Nazi's, and talked about joining up with the army to "fuck over those Kraut bastards," he did not think of infantries and planes and tanks and ships. He thought of Grindelwald, playing Hitler like a puppeteer. He was reminded of the pictures in the _Prophet_ , of raids brought forth by the Dark Alliance, the conglomerate of wizards and vampires and giants and other creatures whose sphere of influence grew unchecked. The muggle war existed only in terms of how it was controlled by the magicals, Tom had thought. But he was wrong, and after that summer he would never think of the muggles in the same way ever again…

_...because he remembered. He could still see the clouds in the sky as he sat in the grass and enjoyed the balmy late-afternoon, his only escape from the hell that was the orphanage. But it came from nowhere. The wailing sound pierced the heavens from all sides, an artificial mourning haunt, rising and falling as it carried on. Relentless. The warning sirens screamed for nearly a whole minute, and Tom sat up, heart pumping with some elusive emotion coursing through his veins, his ears straining and eyes scanning for a threat. The boys at the orphanage were all back home. He'd snuck out to get space for himself. Perhaps this has something to do with the war, he wondered._

_There was no further warning. Only a minute or two later, humming began to rise in his ears. A low-droning whine of unfamiliar machinery. Slowly it began to grow, and grow. The confusion was beginning to become panic. His heart pounded in time with the fast steps of his feet, as he skirted through the streets and alleys. Muggles hurried past him, some crying and yelling out, others stone-faced and worried, most running somewhere they believed was safe, scurrying like rats from poison._

_Then he heard howling shrieks, the screeching of winds. Tom Marvolo Riddle looked towards the skies, and found fear._

_The planes were a swarm, looking like a horde of Doxies from so far below. Bombs fell from their bellies in long streams, like droplets of poison from a leaking distillation column. Bellowing engines roared in mechanized apathy as bomber-escorts swung forward, battling the RAF above the skies of London. He heard it in the not-so-far-away distance, the shuddering of the earth as the explosions blasted the city to smithereens. He ran then, ran ran ran even though he knew there was no outrunning this fear._

**_Am I going to die here...pathetic and scrabbling for my life?_ **

_The whistling of bombs dropping was shrill like the screams of the Beansídhe, an omen of death surrounding him on all sides for miles. The first near-hit shocked him, and he stopped dead as he watched the truck get blasted into shrapnel, tearing apart the street and the nearby shops. His ears rang as buildings rumbled and the street lay awash with burning cars. No longer could he discern between the pleas of the muggles and sounds of falling skies. His knees and palms bled, scratched and coated with dust. He no longer stopped when the bombs hit the ground, scrabbling over crushed bricks and flecks of glass and blackened wood and stone._

_But there was always the sounds._

_The humming of the planes._

_The screams of falling bombs._

_louder…_

_Louder…_

_**Louder** …_

_Then he felt something slam into his back with tremendous force, all the air leaving his lungs in a single swoop. He felt his feet rise off the ground, his body fling forward…_

_And the darkness swallowed his fear..._

He'd awoken some time later that day with his face pressed against asphalt, bruised and broken, his back peppered with shards of nearly-molten brick. He remembered not being able to hear anything, just absorbing the ringing pain that jolted through his ears and skull with every step. As if Mrs. Cole had decided to box his ears with her cane instead of her palms.

He'd scrambled to his knees, then to his feet, and then began to walk, trying in vain to remember which way to go. It took hours. He came across many people, screaming and sobbing and moaning. A man had tried to call to him, pleading for help, but he had only seen the man's tears. Tom's broken ears did not aid him, but his eyes refused to let go. He'd gritted his teeth and acquiesced, pushing magic into his arms as he lifted wooden beams to help the muggle's trapped son. To this day he could smell the burnt flesh of the boy's legs.

It would probably shock Albus Dumbledore if the bearded codger learned that Tom Riddle's first human kill had not been made out of malice or anger or sadism, but mercy. He found her in the middle of the road, crawling between crushed and burning vehicles and fiery craters in the pitch. She crawled helplessly, her legs mangled and twisted, burned to a fused mass of red and black. A sickening white bone stuck out from one, leaving a trail of smeared, almost sizzling blood, as she wheezed incoherent keening gurgles of pain and sorrow. Even when he knelt beside her, trying to get her to stop, trying to stop himself from shaking, and trying to set her leg, she still crawled forward with her eyes not seeing him at all. It was only then that he saw what she wanted.

The shredded mass of what had once been a stroller, perhaps, tilted on its side, the bundle so utterly mangled he couldn't tell if it had once been a boy or girl.

It took him seven attempts before he successfully managed to cast _Avada Kedavra_ , to put her out of her misery. Even without his wand, it had never been so difficult before.

The bint Cole had thought him dead, but he still returned that night, unkempt with blood and ash smeared all over him. She didn't say a word, merely glared at him in disgust, her eyes saying _you should have stayed out there and burned, like the little devilspawn you are._ And perhaps she was right. Maybe he should have died that day.

In a way, he had. He learned from his fear. Tom Riddle was dead. The seed that became Lord Voldemort was planted, ready to reach for the skies.

It would take time for the idea to truly take shape, for hatred and fear to become plans and thoughts. The elite pureblood idiots would pave the path to power, he'd decided. It was only fair that their penance for degrading him as " _mudblood"_ would be to turn that hatred upon the muggles they so despised, if for all the wrong reasons. So foolish and insulated they were, flinging around their Galleons, spitting on the muggles simply because they didn't have magic, hating muggleborns for "stealing" magic.

Grindelwald too was a fool to believe that the muggles should learn the truth about the place they deserved in the world. To reveal magic was to reveal to muggles the true enemy of their existence, to declare war between two species who would one day be locked in mortal combat. The muggles would innovate and eventually crush magic, unless he could match them, unless one day his strength would be enough to grind them to gory paste under his feet.

Lord Voldemort knew better. The non-magicals of the world needed to be brought to heel, not because they were little more than livestock, but because they had learned what wizards had not: to make up for their lack of gifts. Magical humans were complacent fools, but muggles were not. They fought and competed and killed each other with unfathomable relish, over grabs for land and power on a far grander scale than wizards. Each believed the outsiders to be their enemy, furiously waging battle over stupid things. If they could do this much harm to each other without true pain of conscience, what would they do to magic? Witch burnings were a joke compared to what they would face.

Muggles were rabble. The most disgusting creatures in existence, far more so than himself. They destroyed nations with gusto and left population after population in the dark wake of genocide, scorning their own kind. They squabbled as if they were dragons amongst men. For muggles, the quest for power was eternal, but came not from willpower and intent, but instead from the exploitation of others and the natural world around them. He had learnt from their trade in some ways. Despite that power and knowledge, they still knew _nothing_ of the great mysteries of the world around them. Only "God" had the power to manipulate reality as magic did. And for that, the muggles had decided wizards and witches deserved to burn for cheating. It was for that reason that Billy Stubbs had killed Tom's first friend, the little snake in the garden. It was for that reason Mrs. Cole summoned the priest who beat him and performed that stupid exorcism, as if a spirit could ever posses someone of his strength. For them, it was true fear, just as he had learned to fear them. He understood it well. Constant, visceral fear. Not the panic at facing an impossible foe, but the implicit understanding of a species facing extinction.

He worked tirelessly to further himself, to gather both magical and political power. He created his horcruxes so he would never again fear death, to know that he would return time and time again to continue his work regardless of the cost. Magic could kill him, it was true, but he had too much faith in his own abilities. One day, perhaps decades or even more than a century from the day he started, he would eventually reveal himself to the muggles and they would rain fire on him again, intent to bomb wizardkind to ashes. A final witch burning, they'd call it. Lord Voldemort would have to survive and lead at any cost, to keep magic safe.

He had died though, at magic's hands and his own _._ It was horrible, to float aimlessly through the bodies of rats and snakes, understanding that he had failed to account for the most important factor of them all: _time_. Immortality had made him complacent, disgustingly so. He had reigned supreme over Britain while Dumbledore and that idiot Minister, Harold Minchum, floundered to keep themselves afloat. Bagnold had not been any marked improvement for the year she'd been in power, but was clearly less oblivious to the corruption in her own halls. She would have been removed, given more time. All in all, he had had no true opposition. And it was then that he failed...because he stopped searching for ways to develop his power, and became too enamored with exercising it upon others. Foolish and pathetic, _again._ Fallen into the trap of hubris.

As a teenager, Tom hadn't been sure that he walked the correct path. Cruelty and hate came far too naturally to him, and he was aware of it. Never had he truly known love, being known as a freak or devil-spawn for the first eleven years of his life. Oftentimes he worried that he killed simply for the pleasure of it with no proper goal, and that he was little more than a poorly functioning psychopath. He would wonder whether he was gathering followers for a cause he truly believed in, or simply because he enjoyed the power of watching others bend before him, whispering platitudes of " _my Lord._ " And he did, it would be inane to attempt to deny it. He was a scourge that lashed out at anything that attempted to touch his power, and he knew it well.

After his graduation from Hogwarts, he found a job at Borgin and Burke's within the month. Caractacus Burke hired him to be something between a fixer and a curator/collector of dark artifacts, a job Tom discovered to be even more valuable than he had initially believed. His original desire was simply to learn more about dark enchantments and objects, a subject that had been foolishly lacking within the Hogwarts curriculum. Additionally, he'd tracked down his mother's footsteps to learn that she had sold the old man none other than Slytherin's personal locket, merely days before she had died giving birth to him. He would take back his birthright.

Slughorn and several other professors and officials had pleaded with him by mail, saying that such a position was a waste of talent. In some ways, it was. His prowess at least matched that of a young Dumbledore, and he could have easily made his way through the ranks of the Ministry within a decade. Tom did not allow himself to be swayed. He desired the power that could flow between the tips of his fingers and the wood of his wand, not political power from a quill behind the bureaucratic desk. Hogwarts had given him access to the true strengths of magic, but it was never enough. Borgin and Burke's offered him knowledge and a freedom to pursue whatever he desired. As long as Burke received valuable artifacts and information to sell, he was a very satisfied employer. Perhaps he should have been a cursebreaker instead, he reflected: at least one recent Dark Lady was rumored to have chosen that path. Much like himself, the mythical adventurer Patricia Rakepick had become little more than a ghost, uncovering secret vaults within Hogwarts and vanishing from the castle in 1989 after taking the cursed DADA position. He wondered with idle amusement if she had recognized exactly what he'd done to jinx the job.

He banished the reminiscence as the descending stone tunnel began to open. He had journeyed to this place for clues regarding some more ancient magics, and perhaps he would find them here. The cave appeared a dead end, a large circular cavern that seemed to be entirely carved and chiseled from desert pavement. From floor to ceiling, the structure was a perfect dome, covered in small, angular, sharp carvings, easily recognizable as cuneiform. A peculiar _pressure_ seemed to weigh on his magic as he stretched it outwards, hindering him while he searched for curses and traps laid into the runes. He turned his eyes to the only object in the room. Directly in the center, a large stone stele sat upon a small platform, foreboding and ominous, made of some form of obsidian upon first glance. The feeling of _weight_ only increased.

Voldemort's lipless mouth pursed into a grimace, recognizing the artifact as similar to the first seal that had granted him entrance to this place. This magic, whatever it was, struck him as peculiar and likely quite dangerous. He was deep within an undiscovered ruin in what had once been the ancient civilization of Sumer, its location traced together from various fragments and artifacts. Some of those were his own possessions, a few more were stolen by spies in the Department of Mysteries and other magical governments. When he finally found it, he was struck by how odd the place was. The temple here, in the form of a medium-sized ziggurat, was decidedly different from any other of its kind discovered by magicals or muggles. Rather than the usual sun-baked bricks of sand and mud, this place was built of an eerie dark stone, the walls often paved with some strange concrete mixed with glittering pieces of obsidian glass, shining like dark stars.

The place was warded, first of all. It seemed that simply acknowledging the place existed was enough to allow him to bypass ancient and disturbing intent wards. It was, in many ways, similar to the _Fidelius._ Still, it had taken him several hours of complicated ancient runework in the dirt to ensure he would not be incinerated. His first steps ascending the pyramid had run a shiver through his body, signifying a breach through an ancient magic that was still heavy and powerful nearly 5,000 years later. It was his second clue that this place was even more daunting than it seemed. The shrine at its peak had left him with a thrill of foreboding as he had stepped over the eight-pointed star carved into the floor. He recognized it as a rune focus rarely used by English wizards, and the symbol of the ancient goddess of fertility and war, Inanna.

His third clue had come upon discovering the sealed opening carved into the walls of the shrine, atop the massive and strange pyramid which was itself hidden with a sort of _proto-fidelius_ charm. The implicit double-sealing of the place alerted his mind that there was something truly _dangerous_ here. No one would go to the effort of hiding something twice if it was not valuable and meant to be kept secret. The runes were old and weathered, but the intent remained in the door as sharply as the carved runes once were upon the day of their first inscription. Days of note-taking and decryption had passed before he felt at ease enough to attempt unsealing it. The sharp lines spoke of passing trials of the mind, of a first death of three. A loss of naïveté, he had come to extrapolate from the strange text. He'd touched it gingerly, and its dark magic had drawn him into that brutal recounting of his past, of the day the bombs had first fallen and turned the city of London into a hellscape. It lingered on his thoughts even as he stepped further into the dark hallways beyond the sealed door.

The stele before him was much like the first door, but instead showed carved images superimposed with the runic words. It depicted strange creatures with wings and horns, covered in scales, battling with wicked talons and spewing fire from their mouths and staves as they conquered a village of magic-wielders. The pictures were horribly recognizable. _Demons._ Grindelwald had studied them thoroughly, going so far as to use their magics frequently in duels and apparently even summoning some during the most terrible battles in WWII. Tom remembered reading the _Prophet_ in horrified fascination as a child, recounting how only two of the monsters had slaughtered hundreds of Russian muggle troops in a single night, during the German invasion of the east.

The other carved panels on the stele showed a witch fleeing from the village, displaying her co-leadership of a small handful of survivors in an epic pilgrimage across foreign lands. The final two panels were by far the most chilling. They showed the woman and another man kneeling at a large temple by the ocean, looking up at a behemoth creature with bat-like wings and a tentacled mouth, eyes inset with a pair of gleaming emeralds that shined piercingly from the depths of black glass. The color reminded him of the Killing Curse. Then the woman was spreadeagled on the ground, spine arched, her face tossed forward in a rictus of mad agony, as _something_ seemed to sprout and grow from inside her back.

_Feather-like - 8 of them...the sprouting of wings. The symbols of Inanna, or Ishtar..._

Lord Voldemort was discovering a record of a legend, the likes of which he had never even heard of before. He sat there on the floor of the cave with his books and an Undetectable Expension Charm on his belt. An odd position for a Dark Lord, but he had always been a voracious academic first, above all other things. It took him hours and repeated flipping through his notes to determine what he was reading. "Dark bargain with sleeping-dead-dream-walkers," he hissed aloud to himself, as he curiously pondered his rudimentary translation. "A second death of three. Magics of old-fallen-chaos-seekers for fight-survive new star-conquerors."

His ruby-red eyes flickered over the images, pausing on the final image of the goddess being born, her face frozen in torment. _Most intriguing. Whatever these other creatures were had already been driven away, but Inanna made a deal...the power of the old to survive beyond the new._ Of course, the parallels and differences were obvious. The demons were now the old forces, and the potential of the muggles were the new. Had Grindelwald discovered this place, once upon a time? Perhaps he too had desired to harness the power of the distant ancient realm that was falsely referred to as Hell. The German had been too weak and too shortsighted to keep his promises.

Voldemort's enemies were not "star-conquerors," but people born in the dirt like himself. Muggles had, of course, travelled to the moon in his lifetime. Within the next century they would venture onto other planets, other worlds. Perhaps within two centuries, they would realistically consider moving beyond. Not star-conquerors yet. _But isn't that term so worrying...star-conqueror._ He was drawn back to the second time where he'd learnt of fear, when he took his work as an excuse to go search for artifacts after the devastation had ended in the Pacific front. He'd wanted to see the aftermath of muggle destruction. A stranger's quiet words from a time long ago came back to haunt him.

_"We are all but humble frogs, looking to the heights of the sky without understanding that we float at the bottom of a shallow well..."_

He drew his hand back with a sharp snarl of rage, not realizing he'd almost reached out and touched the images on the glassy stones before him. Hissing, he slammed his Occlumency shields in place, carefully picking through his mind for evidence that the artifact had influenced him more than attempting to thrall his thoughts. Without mental preparation, the second seal might attack his mind beyond recovery. Not ever, by _imperius_ or _legilimens,_ had anyone come so close to breaching the sanctity of his mind. The thought that a block of 5,000 year old stone might attempt to do so was terribly disconcerting, but exciting nonetheless.

_I have died and been reborn,_ he thought flatly after a moment. _My second death then, was it not? The artifact seeks to draw in my mind and then crush me with my fears...Come, remind me then, of death._

He reached out and gently stroked the glass surface, still smooth and sharp under his grey skin.

Distantly he heard a scream of pain as his mind was _ripped_ from its sanctity, trying vainly to focus on his shields, to focus on the present, the here and now...

And then he was gone.

_It was a horrible mistake to come here._

_Tom knew it as soon as he apparated. Something was attacking him, rejecting his presence. He couldn't breathe. He had taught himself to sense magic at all times, to stretch out his core to detect presences and spells in his vicinity. Now his skill had been turned against him. Everything around him was_ **_wrong_ ** _. The air was heated and twisted, rancid ashes on the wind like a toxic volcano. The magic was attacking him, ravaging at his presence like his life was an affront, in and of itself._

_He forced himself inward, drawing his magic around him like a cocoon. It barely helped. Billions of little rats were gnawing at him, the sensation of the corrosive magic burning away at his meagre shielding like it was paper. His stomach heaved and he vomited out something, unaware of his surroundings. Dimly he realized that he had fallen to the ground as he grasped weakly at the luke-warm debris and concrete under his clenched fist._

_He forced himself to try and huff in a breath of air, only to choke. A horrible taste like burnt metal and acid lingered on his tongue. **It's in my fucking lungs.** It hurts there too, every breath a struggle. Ash and magic, eating away at him from the inside and out. He wonders if this is what it feels like for muggles with polio, struggling to breathe before they are stuffed into those disgusting contraptions called iron lungs. Cursing in his mind he shifts to one knee, intent to look around at this place and experience what he had come here for._

_With a grimace, he forces his eyes to open, looking up toward the sky._

_The clouds are endless, a horrible color of mottled yellow and black, the likes of which he could never have dreamed of in his darkest nightmares. There is not even an ounce of sunlight peeping through. His head lowers and stops, frozen in horror. There is **nothing** around him but wreckage as far as his eyes can see. The refuse is everywhere. Pieces of debris are scattered so haphazardly he cannot even tell where the muggles had built their buildings or roads. Perplexingly the power lines still stand, completely blackened in place of the wood that must have stood there before. He stands on the dirt road, swaying in place, looking down to find his knees are wet. They are stained black by some kind of brackish water. Little rivers of it run off along the edges of the dirt road, and he sniffs the air and smells something that can only be some sort of metallic rain._

_For minutes he stands there, simply craning his head in horror and observing the fallen city around him. Two days ago there had been people here, and bustling wartime streets. Now there was nothing alive within miles. How was this possible? What had they done to create something so volatile, and what was this taint that corroded his magic and his sanity, that floated in the very air he breathed?_

_With shaking hands he bent and touched the puddle in the road where the water had collected, and hissed in fear and disgust as his skin blistered and stained. A quick wave of his wand, and the wound was gone. But somehow it still hurt, feeling as if he had taken a hot poker to his digits. **This is impossible. Everything here is impossible.**_

_He stumbled down the road like an invalid, intent on reaching the few buildings in the distance behind him that had not fallen. It took too long. He could barely walk in this place, the strength of his magic being the only thing keeping him alive. A lesser wizard would have fallen to the dirt and screamed in fear and pain until falling into psychic shock. Their cores would have been burned and twisted until they were nothing more than crying madmen unable to draw on their broken magic. His teeth ground harshly and the muscles in his jaws twitch as he forced one foot in front of the other. The pain was unbearable. His joints creaked and groaned. His skin burned constantly. His stomach roiled in agony and the organs in his body protested each jarring movement._

_When he finally reached the broken structure he stumbled against it, palm scraping painfully against concrete as he tried to catch his breath. His legs screamed from exhaustion even though he had barely walked half a mile. He rested his head against it, turning to the side to see the contrast between the lone wall to his side and the empty wasteland that surrounded him. Then he stumbled back, a horrified moan escaping his lips as he stared at the surface of the wall._

_There were shadows of people. Ghosts without form, as if the sun itself had descended to earth and imprinted their souls on the wall behind him. He couldn't possibly describe it. It was anathema of everything he had ever seen, but it was right there like a painting on canvas. Human shadows, the remnants of bodies that had twisted in fearful motion and panic in their final moments._

_He remembers what that old man had said to him yesterday, when he had gone into a teahouse in disguise and asked about Hiroshima through translation spells._

_"I've seen what the white devils did to our city." His eyes were wide and staring through him rather than at his face. "Our people have always believed themselves strongest, most civilized, that our Emperor was the living god and that we would bring honor to ourselves in his name. Bah! We were fools all. We are all but humble frogs, looking to the heights of the sky without understanding_ _that we float at the bottom of a shallow well...Go there yourself, boy, and you will see."_

_For the first time since he was six years old, Tom Riddle broke down into sobs._

Lord Voldemort's red eyes glowed as his scream of rage pulsed across the cavern, dissipating the vision of memory that had attacked his thoughts. Around him, the runes in the wall glowed with black light, but he saw none of it. His inhuman heart pounded and he clenched his fists so tightly against the stone that he was sure it would crack at any moment.

_**All those animals must die.** _

.

.

.

_"If I am mad, it is mercy! May the gods pity the man who, in his callousness, can remain sane to the hideous end."_

_-H.P. Lovecraft,_ _The Temple_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Phew that was hard to write, but soooooo fun. Also, in case you didn't notice by now, we love HP Lovecraft. I'll include the influence of some of his creations throughout the story though they will never be the primary focus, just pieces of magical history that might play interesting roles.
> 
> .
> 
> .


	11. Funérailles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the real Chamber of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey everyone! It's been a minute since I've posted a chapter, but it's Christmas Eve and this is the only present I've got for you. Hope everybody's having a good holiday season.
> 
> Slight change to Chamber of Secrets canon. After Harry and Ron rescued Ginny, they originally took her and Lockhart to McGonagall's office, where she was speaking to Dumbledore and the Weasley's, and Dumbledore just kind of takes over her office for a little bit to speak to Harry and then Lucius Malfoy. I don't really think this makes a lot of sense, so I just decided to relocate that meeting to Dumbledore's office. Sure, he got kicked out of the school, but the man's got style. If he did come back, why not have them all meet in his own office?
> 
> Who cares, it doesn't really make a difference anyway, just helps introductory flow in my fic.
> 
> My design of the CoS is a little bit of a mix between canon and film. I'm pretty positive the statue mentioned has more of Slytherin's full body in it in the book, whereas in the movie it's just the big face. If I could draw it out I'd probably do it for you, but hopefully you get a good idea of its structure from my descriptions. After all I'm a fanfiction writer, not an artist. I can't draw for shit.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! (hopefully)

**CH - Funérailles**

_**July 17th, 1997, 1400 hours** _

Ron Weasley took in the familiar sight of imposing wings, furled high on the gargoyle that stood stoically in front of him. Perhaps referring to the statue as _familiar_ was a bit much. Unlike Harry, who seemed to find himself in Dumbledore's presence yearly due to some horrible tragedy or another, Ron only ever remembered coming here once. It flashed through him as he faced the stone carving, a memory of little Ginny squeezing his arm in timid relief while he dragged an amnesiac Lockhart behind him, Spello-taped wand in hand. He doesn't know if this meeting only moments from now makes him more or less nervous than he had been years ago. A different Headmaster sat in the chair now. A dangerous one, to be sure, and certainly one that he had never been on good terms with. Even if the former Head of Slytherin was trustworthy, that did not erase the years - and events - between.

He chanced a quick glimpse out of the corner of his eye and saw that Harry's nerves weren't faring much better. It was Harry who had initially set up the meeting and insisted Ron come along. The annoyed redhead argued against it for no good reason except that he didn't want to see Snape at all, the slimy git.

He now gulped a nervous swallow, staring up at the gargoyle that blocked the winding staircase.

"D'you reckon we need the password?" Ron asks after a moment, not sure what else there is to say.

Harry just shrugs. "Didn't need one last time, I just screamed at it to move, but Snape might have just let me in. Or it knew I needed to go up there and have a conversation." He faced the gargoyle. "Er, could you open up? We sent a note to the Headmaster that we'd drop by for a chat."

For an awkward moment, Ron felt as though the blank eyes of the creature were scrutinizing the two of them, before it swung aside and revealed the staircase.

"Let's get on with it, then," Harry muttered. "Before I change my mind."

They made their way up, Ron leading with his taller form just slightly as they reached the top of the flight. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but the familiar drawl on the other side made him freeze mid-motion. " _Come in._ "

Ron only shoots a quick look of apprehension before Harry reaches over his arm and swings the door open with a shrug.

"Potter, Weasley." Severus Snape's expression of annoyance flickers just slightly as he sets down a quill and sets aside a stack of parchment. Ron receives a quirked eyebrow from the man, and he knows he's far too tense. "I'd not expected you to arrive here so quickly after that... _incident_...at the Burrow, Mr. Weasley."

Ron just grunts his annoyance, even knowing that his anger at Snape is almost completely baseless now. That _doesn't_ mean he isn't unsettled, or just plain-old pissed off. "Yeah, bet you heard all about it, Professor."

"Indeed, I'd heard the scared complaints resulting from your sister's little surprise." The normally sour face twitched and twisted his lips into a smirk, far more dangerous than any expression Ron had seen over the years. The young Weasley and consummate Gryffindor found himself wondering for a moment if acting a bully had truly given the man any joy, or whether the potions master was simply playing his part, drowning in bitterness while taking small bits of easy revenge wherever he could. _'Blimey_ _, I don't even want to think about it._

"I don't think we came here to talk about that." Harry interrupted, looking at them both curiously. It was the longest conversation remotely resembling polite that the three had ever had with each other.

"We will discuss it nonetheless." said Snape sharply. "Because the vampire that supposedly turned Ginny Weasley somehow died in the attack, and there was simply not enough time for him to have turned her."

Ron spluttered, tongue half-frozen. "And that means what?"

"She should have died of blood loss," Snape snapped, his hair swinging forward. "Something _very_ magically unusual happened to your sister, Weasley, and it would be prudent to figure out _exactly_ what. Even the Dark Lord was interested on top of being furious when he heard the news. He'd been under the impression that the Order had killed the bloodsucker, but it's clear from the fragments of Death Eater memories that that did not happen."

"What the bloody hell does that even mean?" Ron barked, aware his ears were turning red. "You-Know-Who's asking after my sister?"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"For the last time. _Listen._ If you'd paid attention in my class last year, Weasley, you'd know that a vampire must drain every drop of blood from the victim in order to turn them into a vampire." The man sneered as he leaned back into the Headmaster's chair. "Contrary to whatever bedtime stories your idiot twin brothers scared you with, the process takes quite some time. Otherwise the victim dies a slow and agonizing death if the vampire does not close the wound. Young Miss Weasley is walking, talking, blood-sucking anomaly, and a very dangerous one. That she lives should not be possible at all, that she turned is even more ridiculous, and that the vampire died in the process makes it simply baffling. The Dark Lord believes knowledge is power. He will attempt to uncover the truth behind this, though that priority is not as urgent as finding and killing all of you. Keep note of it."

Ron stared at the man, struggling between the urges to punch the smug git in fury and run off panicking at the new knowledge. He finally settled on something easy. "I'll pass along the warning, much appreciated," he bit out tersely. Anxiety and confusion boiled in his chest, and he was well aware his ears were turning red. With tremendous effort, he bit his tongue. There was nothing good he could say, and Snape had told him inside information, even if it had been bad news. The older man just nodded as if he was pleased Ron had controlled his temper.

_Bloody smarmy git._

"Now, I confess. I am curious as to why you are actually here." Snape folded his hands on the desk and stared them down. Ron just shrugged and glanced over at Harry. _Er, nope._ _You talk now._

Harry looked uncomfortable for a moment, but shrugged in a mimicry, before pressing onwards.

"Few things, really. Ron and I have been doing some research and practice on defence. Professor Dumbledore's portrait had a few more obscure recommendations for general spellwork, but I wondered if you had any favorite books for advanced dueling. And maybe something else for tactics and fighting in groups." Snape's eyes seemed to gleam as his smirk only deepened.

Harry shrugged, looking irritated. "Yes, Professor, I am actually asking for a suggestion from you, of all people," he responded drolly to the man's look. Ron just gawked, but settled on a snort of amusement. Surprisingly, while grimacing a little bit, Snape didn't look too bothered by Harry's obvious cheek.

"Dumbledore kept a modified tactical manual for non-Auror members within the Order of the Phoenix written by Moody, I might be able to find a copy for you and send an elf to deliver it, along with a list of books you might be interested in." The professor gave them a pointed look. "I'll add a few books to the end of the list that should be considered more...dangerous, shall we say. A few might be available in the Restricted Section."

Ron stifled the urge to cry and cackle hysterically at the same time. _A week ago, if anyone had told me that I would be sitting in the Headmaster's Office asking Snape for advice on dueling and Dark magic, I probably would have blasted out their teeth._ The sheer look of discomfort on his friend's face told the redhead that he wasn't at all alone, yet Harry was still first to express his gratitude with a muttered "thanks Professor."

There was an awkward pause where Snape scrutinized them for several seconds, his black eyes glittering.

"Come now," he murmured, voice low and amused as the man propped up his head with one hand, in a gesture Ron could only describe oddly relaxed for such a usually bitter man. "Since you haven't yet left with haste, I presume there's more you intend to ask of me."

Harry turned to send him a pleading look, which Ron instantly understood.

"Uh, no way you wanker, you killed the ruddy thing so you get to ask about it." He vehemently denied trying to ask Snape about _this_ of all things. In front of them, Snape's eyebrows were only rising higher.

"Right..." Harry turned back to the darkly amused Headmaster and took a deep inhale, before blurting it out in a single breath. "So whaddayouknowaboutbutcheringabasilisk?" Harry breathed out in a single breath. Ron sniggered as Snape's eyes widened in shock before narrowing.

"Say again, Potter?"

"What do you know about butchering a basilisk? Do you have any books or anything we can use to figure out how to dissect it into parts?"

Snape just frowned and stared, bemused.

* * *

_**July 17th, 1997, 1453 hours** _

It turned out Snape did not know how to dissect a basilisk into parts, no more than the next wizard did. In fact, the only people who could do so were goblins, and perhaps magi-zoologists. Goblin-crafted steel, it turned out, was one of very few metals capable of cutting through the thick hide of a basilisk or a dragon. Not only was it notoriously difficult to kill such beasts, but it was also a rare event. On slightly less rare occasions, basilisks could be ritually hatched with the toad and chicken egg method. Without a parselmouth to help it grow, however, records showed they did not grow after 15 years of age and were much smaller, less dangerous, and easier to farm. This was how most basilisk parts reached the market. That only made the parts from a full-grown adult much more valuable.

Therefore, the goblins generally accepted commissions to slaughter and butcher XXXXX class beasts whose corpses required special handling. Yet it was not possible to trust the shrewd gold-mongers at this point - Snape had told them explicitly that there were goblin spies in Gringotts, and officials would not agree to secrecy for creature processing contracts. In short, they would have to do it themselves, from scratch, with very few instructions. Disgusting.

_"There may be literature on the subject from research zoologists."_ Snape had said. Newt Scamander was the last recorded person to see and take apart a dead basilisk in the wild, somewhere in the Amazon jungle nearly 40 years ago, and had catalogued its remains as thoroughly as possible. Snape had impressed on the importance of protection, showing them Scamander's written complaints about how all his gloves had melted except the ones made of triple-layered scales of a Swedish short-snout.

The anatomical diagram drawn up by the famous wizard was incredibly thorough. Ron figured that if Harry could find a goblin-steel blade in No. 12 Grimmauld Place, they'd be all set and ready to go. Harry was less sure, uneasily explaining that they would have to remove all the fangs and drain out its venom sacs before they would go near it with the blades. Otherwise the goblin metal would end up absorbing the venom, and even a tiny cut would be enough to kill them. Ron was more than aware of how dangerous that would become, and promised to not jump ahead.

Still, he'd never seen the snake, only heard about it in the nightmares Ginny had detailed to him on rare occasions. It would be a sight to see, certainly. The Chamber itself may have been a place for slimy snakes, but he would like to explore it. _Gryffindors charge in, after all._

Harry never spoke of the beast, only saying it was "ruddy massive," and getting a faraway look in his eye while he stared off into space. Ron suspected that though the snake had brought Harry face-to-face with his own mortality, the boy-who-lived had been far more unsettled by the shade of Tom Riddle, the thing which they now knew was a piece of the Dark Lord's soul.

Ron zoned back into the muttered conversation that Hermione was having with herself as she bent over said diagram, eyes flicking over details while she scribbled with a Self-Inking quill.

"Erm...Hermione?" She didn't so much as twitch, obviously not noticing him at all. With a sigh, he plucked the quill out of her hand with nimble fingers. Dancing a few steps back, he laughed as she jumped up and stared at him with a poisonous glare.

"We'll have plenty of time to study it later," he reminded her. "Especially since the bloody thing is dead and isn't going anywhere. One thing at a time, y'know? We have to actually go down there first and clear it out."

It took at least five seconds before the _literally_ glowing annoyance dimmed away from Hermione's purple eyes, and she let out a sigh of exasperation. It still took him quite a bit of getting used to, and he tried not to freeze in mild panic whenever that happened. " _Fine,"_ she groaned with a huff. She looked over his shoulder, and tossed another glare. Ron turned to see Harry sniggering behind him.

"Stuff it, prat," she grumbled, pointing a thumb toward the Slytherin corner, where two heads peered into a cauldron. "Go help Ginny and Neville wrap up, they're stewing lacewing flies for a batch of Polyjuice. I'll go find Luna. She went down to see if Pince had a separate library catalogue for the Restricted Section. I won't be long."

And with that, she whirled away, moving briskly toward the door.

As Ron fell back into a couch, he realized how uneasy he was. The last time he'd gone down into the Chamber of Secrets he'd been terrified, much more so than when he was attempting to dismantle the traps protecting the Sorcerer's Stone the year before. Having Lockhart around gave him something to focus his anger on, but he'd been there alone for hours stewing in his thoughts, shoveling aside rocks and rubble. He'd spent that time stewing in his panic, huffing out his frustration and helplessness as he dug. When Harry and Ginny came back splattered with slime and gore, he knew that he'd been right to worry, even if he'd been thoroughly relieved. _Now I'm heading down there again._

"So, we're really doing this again, huh," he muttered, looking over. "D'you want to tell Ginny we're going now, or should I?" Harry was sitting on the arm of a chair, shoulders slumped and staring out the large stained-glass windows with a vacant expression. He seemed to jolt out of his thoughts at the words. Shrugging, he turned to stare at Ginny's red hair as she stirred the cauldron.

"This is...personal for us. I think it's something I should do." Green eyes looked at him pleadingly, asking his permission, and Ron could only nod his head in understanding. _I saw what it did to her afterward in her nightmares. I was there, Harry. I should have been better...should've taken Lockhart's wand and blasted a hole and followed right after so you weren't in there alone against those monsters. I should have been there with you both._

But he doesn't say it aloud, just nods as Harry takes a deep breath and stalks over to the corner. Neville stands up and reads the look on Harry's face. A few muttered words and a look of comprehension later, he walks over toward Ron as Harry sits down beside a now tense-looking Ginny.

Neville plops himself down across from where he's seated with a grimace. "I never thought there'd be a day where I'd be going down into the actual Chamber of Secrets."

He just snorted, unable to help himself. "I didn't even go in proper and it still scared the bloody hell out of me. At least this time we can all see what that snake looks like dead and cut it to bits. For closure."

"Does Hermione remember seeing it? In her mirror?"

He froze at Neville's question and turned to meet his eyes slowly. "You know, she must remember something." He swallowed. "Myrtle said she saw eyes before she died. I've never - I can't believe I've never thought-"

"Harry got it in the end," reassured Neville. The blonde Gryffindor looked a bit nervous that he'd spoiled the mood so fast. "We'll all be there."

_Right, right..._ Ron can only nod weakly.

Harry and Ginny are walking back together as he looks up. His sister is even more pallid than usual and completely stone-faced, but there's none of the panic he remembered the summer after her second year. _That's good._ She looks tense and uncomfortable, but she's alright for now. He gives her a small nod of confidence. Her posture relaxes a little. _So far so good._

"Where's Hermione?" she asks.

"Gone to get Luna from the library. They'll be back any minute."

Neville scrutinizes Harry's dark expression and Ginny attempting to present solid front. Obviously it's barely working. "You two okay with this?"

Harry just shrugs. To him, this is a trip down memory lane to another time he almost died. Ginny looks lost and confused at Neville's question, and nervous.

"No," she says bluntly, a single fang poking out as she purses her lips. "But I won't ever be, really, if I don't go."

"You've all got a broom?" All heads turn and nod, and Ron pats the shrunken broom in his pocket as Luna's voice floats from the front doorway of the Room. The blonde beamed from the doorway, spinning on her toes. "I guess that means we're all ready then. What are we waiting for?"

* * *

Luna Lovegood thinks that the walk toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom feels an awful lot like a death procession - _or is it called a funeral march_? They walk in a stilted formation that makes a sad amount of sense. Harry and Ron lead at the front, their wands held in hand in a mockery of relaxation, and their steps are tense and purposeful. Ginny is unusually timid and hovers just a step behind Harry and her brother, looking a bit too much like the little girl she had been as a first year, clenched in Tom Riddle's fist of soul compulsion. Hermione is there next to her, and Luna sees the wavy-haired girl take Ginny's hand and give her a brief squeeze of reassurance.

Harry and Ron stood at the front like guards, though they too needed to confront their memories and fears. Ginny was the victim and needed that layer of protection, the knowledge that she had company and friendship surrounding her. Hermione was the empathy, for she too had been attacked and needed closure, no matter how much she denied or ignored it.

Lastly are herself and Neville, bringing up the rear. They were the least affected by all of this, though Luna had noticed something _wrong_ about the Nargles and Wrackspurts that had been in her first-ever bestfriend's head that year. No matter, Ginny had relieved her of that guilt when they had reconciled, the summer after. Still, Luna promised herself that she would never forget to trust her instincts like that, ever again. They had not let her down since.

Onward they went, marching forward to an invisible rhythm of Fate. She strained for a moment, stretching her magic backwards, into her own mind. It was an incredibly odd sensation. She'd done it instinctively before as a younger girl, when she was worried or upset, and Seen little flashes of things yet to come. She didn't know it at the time. Whatever had happened in that old house over her father's cooling corpse had...awakened something in her, for lack of a better phrase. Not like drowning in Wrackspurts - which transmitted from other people and the air - but a part of her own mind that she hadn't known about. Like diving into a dark, endless ocean, and reaching into it blindly to see what she could find. Going to Gringotts had only shown proof that her newfound "third-eye" was part of the fae blood-traits she had received. _I'm glad it wasn't a real third eye on my forehead. That would be utterly repulsive._

Luna already knew instinctively that it came from her mother. There had been something too beautiful about her, too ethereal. Perhaps it was the bias of hindsight and the wistful memory of long ago, or perhaps it was true. Either way, she hadn't told the others. Telling them about the faery in her veins was enough. If she leaked out the rest, Hermione would stare at her skeptically before scouring dusty old tomes and asking her to use her magic to "experiment." Ron would scoff and roll his eyes, but hide his worry on the inside. Harry - and Neville too - had a bad history with seers and prophecy, even if they hadn't always known it. She wouldn't drop that burden on them. Ginny might understand, so she'd be the first to know. Later, of course. When she felt ready, more certain of what to do with her power, then it would be time.

She dropped her thoughts and focused back, feeling a pressure building up around the center of her forehead. Something snaps into place sharply, an inaudible and invisible _thrum_ of magic resonating as her eyes close and her body seems to float on itself. Then finally, she Sees something...

_Snakes slithering backwards into stone_

_Emerald gems...gleaming eyes_

_Screams and yells_

_Blood and brimstone and the musk of scales_

_White clawed hands and_

_A wave of ice-cold water_

_She can't_

_breathe-_

Luna's footsteps faltered and upon opening her eyes, was greeted by Neville's startled look from her side. She kept on walking, trying to look reassuring. The frown on his face tells her it doesn't really work. His Wrackspurts are in a bit of a frenzy.

_Whoops. Oh well, too late._

Her contrition becomes grim, and she hopes dearly that it doesn't show on her face.

_This is not going to go as easily as we think..._

She drew her wand and kept it loosely by her side. Whatever these visions are, they aren't enough to see anything solid about the future, but they are warnings that have not yet been wrong. There is danger at the end of the path.

When Harry suddenly stopped dead in the hallway, Ginny almost ran into him. Stumbling, she caught herself before anyone moved to steady her, waving them off.

"Sorry, Ginny," his eyes flickered sheepishly for a second as he looked over them all, before dimming in anxiety. His voice was tinged with grim amusement. "This is it...better not have any second thoughts."

The second floor girl's bathroom was still the same as it'd always been. Worn down stalls, scruffy and even cracked tiles and mirrors, and sinks that hadn't been used in ages. Moaning Myrtle herself was nowhere to be found. Luna wasn't too unfamiliar with the bathroom - it was a nice place to be alone away from the teasing 'Claws when Myrtle was off crying elsewhere in the castle. Hearing Harry explain yesterday that this room had been the entrance to Slytherin's chamber was, therefore, a bit of a shock.

She raised an eyebrow as Harry leaned in very close, seemingly inspecting the old faucets, his black hair nearly touching the old porcelain sinks. After walking around he pauses, still bent forward, and opens his mouth in a short, sharp _hiss_ as his tongue seems to flicker from his mouth.

There's a heavy _groan_ of noise, like gears of stone. The sink slowly begins to rotate, coming apart into six large sections and spiralling into the floor. A very wide tunnel sits before them, constructed entirely of dark stones. _Very impressive,_ Luna is forced to admit. There's no evidence that the sink had been there at all.

"So," Ron piped up, conversationally. "Who's jumping first?"

"I thought you were bloody joking when you said it was a giant pipe slide!" Hermione groaned, aghast. "How did you even know it was safe?"

"Told you, didn't I? We shoved in Lockhart first and waited to hear if he screamed."

Neville snorts and Luna giggles at the scandalized expression on Hermione's face.

"There was nothing down there except muck and bones last time, so just keep wands out and move out of the way when you land." Harry says, calmly. Hermione frowned.

"Harry...this was designed by Salazar _Slytherin._ Do you honestly think the wizard remembered as a blood-purist and a powerful Lord used a _slide_ to get into his super-secret Chamber with his most valuable pet? Have you tried asking for stairs or something?"

Harry gawped at her, and Ron roared with laughter. "She's bloody right, mate."

He turned back to the large, glaring-wide pipe below and closed his eyes, and hissed again, out loud.

Luna found herself humming with the tone. _Parseltongue is strangely musical._

Unfortunately, nothing happened.

"You're definitely right, Hermione, but it didn't work. That means there's probably another entrance somewhere, probably a way in, that no one has found yet." Harry laughed, beaming at the new idea. "We'll have to look for it later, but right now let's just get down in there."

"I'll go first." Ron volunteered. Harry looked carefully at him, then nods, rolling his eyes . Ron just grinned, sitting down on the ledge before shoving off with his hands, like a boy sliding into a pool. Except, of course, that he's falling into a long tunnel of seemingly endless darkness instead. _Oh dear, mo_ _rbid._

One by one they jump in, disappearing from sight. Hermione went next, cleverly casting an _Impervious_ on her robes before she fell with a yelp of terror. Neville next, and then it's her own turn. She smiled as she kicked her legs idly off the edge.

"Here I go," Luna heard herself whisper.

And she did.

The tunnel had definitely not been clean in centuries. The wind whooshing past her face smelled like dead snake-skin and the slight scent of rotting meat and bones. Her father was an expert on creatures after all, and she remembered how a snake smells. In the darkness several flashes of different tunnel branches blurred past her before she could focus on them, and the tunnel continued to bring her down, further and further beneath the castle. She grumbled slightly as one wild turn bumped her against the walls, hearing the thumps of either Harry or Ginny sliding down behind her. In front of her, Neville's yelp floats through her ears.

About 20 seconds later, her body is thrown out into the open, and she's gasping as her arse slams into the slimy floor with a squeaky _"oof!"_ of jolted surprise and pain. She landed mere feet from Neville, who was already moving and grabbing her arm to pull her straight up onto her feet. She smiles and gives him a hug which he returns weakly, turning a little red in the face.

She looked over to where Hermione was disgustedly waving her wand over Ron, repeatedly using _tergeo_ and _scourgify_ as slime and muck was siphoned off the boy's shirt and jeans.

"...hells, 'Mione, I'll get them cleaned off later, alright?"

He's interrupted a moment later as Ginny flew into the room, somehow catching her balance on one knee and one hand, skidding to a slimy halt. She looked around the small dark hallway, eyes both curious and filled with familiar fear as she took deep breaths.

Luna took the chance to join her friend and hold her hand, then looked down at where they'd found themselves.

The hallway was dim, murky, and wet. The full scale of the smell hit her first. It was not completely dark - by some eerie magic, every part of the hall was dimly lit, as if illuminated from a full moon that shined through the solid stones. Slimy water ran slowly along the edges, and she could see hints white scattered all across the floor, of dozens or hundreds of strewn bones from creatures big and small alike.

Harry came hurtling out of the dark tube with a yelp of adrenaline, landing in their midst with a soft _thump._ With a groan, he pushed himself to his knees, and then his feet. "I've done that twice and I can't decide if I love or hate it," he said dryly, looking around. "All good?"

"This place really is disgusting." Luna is, in fact, most intrigued by the mosaic of bones splattered haphazardly across the floor. She bends over to peer at one skull that looks like a rather large rat. "Did the basilisk eat all of these? Some of them are quite small."

Ron looked a bit sick. "They might've just crawled down here on accident and died, to be honest." He muttered a _"lumos,"_ and light flared across the tunnel from the tip of his wand, revealing enough that they could finally see down the expanse of the Chamber's halls. He seemed to concentrate a moment, and the light beam grew brighter, showing they had quite a walk before the path seemed to end in a sharp right turn.

He started to step forward when Hermione grabbed his wrist.

"We don't know if there are any traps, Ron."

"Oh, Merlin's sake Hermione, we've literally been here as 12-year-olds," he griped, but rummaged through his pockets anyway. "Plus, Harry opened the tunnel with Parseltongue, there won't be any intent-wards here that we wouldn't have known about."

"He does have a point," Luna said quietly. Hermione turned to her with a cocked eyebrow. "Besides the basilisk itself, there was nothing valuable about the stuff Harry found in the Chamber last time. If there _is_ anything valuable, that's what the traps will be protecting, not the entrance to the creature itself."

Begrudgingly, Hermione agreed with a sigh. "I just wanted to try out a spell," she grumbled. Neville let out an undignified snort, but said nothing to avoid igniting their resident bookworm's wrath.

They stalked forward, footsteps echoing against wet stone like strange high-pitched drums. Around the corner Ron swept the beam of light from his wand and frowned. Dead ahead of them was a small mountain of rubble, large stone bricks strewn about and broken in a large pile. The _lumos_ spell showed a hole near the top of the pile, barely large enough for a skinny child to fit to fit through .

"Damn, mate, I thought you dug out more than that." Harry bemoaned. Ron shot him a glare.

"I've already said it, haven't I? We were 12, practically midgets. Plus those bricks are bloody heavy, whatever they are, and I didn't exactly have a wand, and Lockhart was no help."

"Is this where Lockhart tried to _obliviate_ you?" Neville stares at the mountain of debris in amusement.

"Courtesy of my old broken wand." Ron's face was dark with his annoyance as Hermione giggled. "I had to drag his dumb arse to the side and watch while he sat there and tried to regain his memories. Poncy git. And don't you laugh either," he says, looking pointedly at Hermione. "You still had that stupid schedule with hearts on our DADA classes."

Hermione flushed, but snorted at her previous shortsightedness. "For the third time, Ron, we were 12."

"Always turning my words back at me."

"Anyway, if _reparo_ won't work, then how are we going to dig this up? Levitation charms will take forever and if the bricks are magic resistant we'll be exhausted. If we use our hands, we'll be exhausted."

Harry's face lit up. "Dobby!"

_CRACK_

"Harry Potter, sir! What can Dobby be's doing..." The usually jubilant elf is caught off guard by their macabre surroundings, and Luna finds herself barely holding back a giggle at Dobby's rather interested and confused wide eyes as he looks around in the tunnel.

"Um, Harry Potter, sir, where are we being?" He glanced up at Harry in a quiet whisper.

"Remember when you tried to save my life from the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Yes, Harry Potter sir."

"Er...This is the Chamber of Secrets."

Dobby's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets and start tap-dancing on the floor. He let out a squeak and clapped his hands over his mouth.

"Big snake monster is dead, Harry Potter. What needs be done down here?"

"Er, well, see that part of the tunnel that collapsed?" Harry points. "We need to get through so we take apart the basilisk's corpse, and explore the chamber so we can beat Voldemort, but human magic doesn't seem to work on it well. Would it be any trouble to ask you to fix it for us?"

Dobby just gave him an entirely-too-cheeky-grin and _snapped_ his fingers, turning to stare at the rubble intently. With a grinding _rumble_ the rocks began to rise, slowly fitting themselves back into place along the walls and the ceiling. They fixed themselves perfectly, reminding Harry momentarily of when Dumbledore and Slughorn had done something similar a year ago. He made a mental note to look it up.

"Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter sir!" The elf clapped his hands and _popped_ away with the ear-to-ear smile on his face.

"Merlin's balls," Neville muttered. "What is up with that e-lf." He stuttered as Hermione glared at him. "Oh come of it, you know I'm right."

Luna stifled a laugh as they kept on moving.

It felt as though they were walking for ages. She was almost convinced that these tunnels would never end as they twisted and turned left and right. If she hadn't known that Harry had been down this way before, she'd have been terrified. Another right turn, and Harry finally spoke and broke their silence. "Another turn, and we'll be at the door." His face is tight and grim, and a collective shudder seems to roll down all of their backs. _It's coming,_ she thinks to herself, queasy for a different reason than Harry and Ginny were. _Soon. If only I could See **what** is coming. Stupid third-eye, even more annoying than a Nargle._

Nervous anticipation makes the walk go by faster. They slow to a stop in front of a wall with a large, circular doorway right in the center. Two large metal snakes were entwined around each other to decorate its surface, appearing so realistic she could've sworn they slithered against each other. _Like the caduceus of Hermes,_ she can't help but think. Their eyes glowed in the low light, made of shining gemstones of jade or perhaps emerald. Harry opens his mouth to speak the password in Parseltongue, but Hermione cuts him off.

"You came down here last time to save an innocent," she said bluntly, her glinting purple eyes staring him down. Ginny flinches to his side, but looks mollified by the choice of words. "This time, we've come to plunder. If that's not a difference in intent, nothing is. Let me check at least check for trap runes or wards."

He acquiesces with a wince, motioning her forward. She draws a small corked bottle of black liquid from her robes and shakes it wildly for a second before _popping_ off the cork it, handing it to Ron. He clasped it gingerly with two fingers.

"Er...what is that?" asked Ron, peering at the black stain on the bottom of the cork.

"Activated charcoal made of powdered pixie bones and mixed with squid ink," Hermione lectured absently, rummaging for and drawing her wand. Ron blanched and held the cork as far away from his face as possible.

Luna watched her gingerly dip the wood of her wand just barely inside the top of the jar, before drawing it out and waving it lightly to remove an excess drop. She pauses for a moment, wand in the air, tip painted black like a pen poised above paper. She began to draw in Elder Futhark, and whisper.

_"Peorð..._ _Ōþalan... Nauðr..."_

The others stare in awe and confusion as she drew mid-air, and the inked tip of her wand was lit up with light. The three runes leave a glowing afterimage of faint purple in the path her wand has traveled, forming the three angular letters burned into the air. _It takes power and control to draw them out like that._ Luna has taken Ancient Runes, unlike the others. The detection Hermione cast was simple and blunt, but powerful. The runes themselves acted as an additional boost to illuminate the rune sequences. If she had drawn them out on a piece of paper or stone, it would not be nearly as effective as this. She could have cast a single detection spell instead, like just _patefacio_ without the runes, or the simpler cousins _revelio_ or _aparecium,_ but neither of them would have shown the signatures of the magic being revealed. It was precise work.

Suddenly Hermione stopped, and stabbed her wand forward with a sharp incantation.

_"Patefacio."_

All three runes blazed with light and drove forward, disappearing into the wall. For a split-second, nothing happened, before hidden runes in the doorway begin to blaze with light. A circle of small white letters surrounded the entire circumference of the doorway. Along the bodies of the metal snakes, chains of runes form ironically snakelike lines along the spines of the decorative creatures, wrapping around each other in a strangely beautiful pattern. Hermione grabbed the cork from between Ron's limp fingers closed the bottle. The guy was far too busy gaping at the magical runes drawn into the wall before him.

"Luna could you help me out and read over the circle on the edge? I'll cover the snakes, and we'll get this done faster."

She nodded with a grin and joined her bushy haired friend, beginning to read over the ancient letters, drawing close but careful not to touch the incandescent imprints.

_Blessings of protection, strength, unbreakability, and power. Is that a rune of recognition? Hmmm...an activation too._ It takes her a few minutes to scrutinize all of it. She realized after a moment that not all of it is in Elder Futhark, which is surprising. She hadn't known that English wizards had used other runes at the time of the Founders, though it does make sense. The curious bit is that normally different languages don't mix well together, but Salazar Slytherin had somehow chained at least three together, and very expertly. One of them looked almost Greek, but off by several letters. Likely an ancient dialect. It was mildly decipherable, at least. The other...that was a different story. It was full of squiggles and curved shapes, completely unlike any alphabet system she'd ever seen. And she swore that every time she glanced at a different rune and back, the shape was no longer the same, as if the letters were shifting _dynamically_. Her eyes widened the longer she looked.

"I-I think I know what this means?" she stammered out, asking more than responding. She takes a step back, almost stumbling over her own feet as she began to reach a conclusion. "Hermione, you're seeing those runes, right?

"Yes." Her voice is distant and awed even though she stands right next to her friend. "They're bloody _moving!_ "

"The door's safe." Luna mumbled, still staring at the letters, flicking her glance back every so often at the doorway. "It just has unbreakable protections, and if you try to break in it has some sort of security system that blocks the door completely."

"The security's the snakes," Hermione continues, nodding as she finally wrenches her gaze from the runes. "They listen to and interpret the parseltongue password. Or instead, they grow and cover the doorway and add an extra layer of protection, like a blast shield."

"Ok, but what has both of you so freaked out?" asks Neville behind them, his voice a little higher pitched and definitely confused.

"Look at this rune." Hermione says, her voice aroused in peak excitement, pointing with the tip of her finger. "It's not in any language I recognize. And if you look away and look back at the same rune, _it changes shape!_ I've never heard of anything like that, ever!"

The others, except a nervous-looking Ginny, gawk after a moment, discovering that the two witches were not, in fact, mad. Harry though rubs his eyes through his glasses, staring at the tip of Hermione's finger with a frown.

"Um, Hermione, it just says _§open§_ "

Hermione shrieks glee and Luna feels her mouth drop into an 'O' of surprise as they turn to look at Harry, ignoring the grinding of the stone doors.

"Are you telling me that's _runic Parseltongue!?_ "

Ron gasps and Ginny lets out a little shriek of horror. Neville's face instantly drains of color and Harry just looks grim.

None of them are looking at Hermione or herself, but past them. Slowly, the girls glanced at each other before turning in unison.

Luna couldn't help it, and let out a little _oh!_ of shock.

_That thing is fucking colossal._

The carcass is the first thing any of them see. Even from a distance, it is incomparable to any creature she'd ever laid eyes upon, except maybe the mother dragons from the Triwizard Tournament. Its mouth is slightly open, revealing a jaw filled with razor sharp fangs that seem more fitting on a shark than on the king of snakes. A pool of dried black blood sits underneath it. Massive golden eyes nearly the size of her head are torn and shredded open, giving off an eerie appearance like it had been weeping as it died. The diameter of the creature is as thick as a hundred-year-old tree, laid out at least 50 feet long, with the remaining torso and tail curled up like it had just lunged.

Neville squeaked out first. "You killed that bloody thing with a _sword!?_ " Hermione was taking deep gasping breaths as she stared at it, eyes wide.

"It got me too. I was lucky Fawkes stuck around," Harry responded shortly, his eyes fixed on the beast. He stepped forward into the room first, and they followed him jerkily. Ron jogged up to the creature and circled around the head, fixedly glaring at the monster as he did.

"Harry," he said, weakly, "I'm fully convinced you're utterly insane. Even if you did save my sister."

Luna allowed her eyes to roam even as she nodded to agree with Ron. The six of them stood at one end of a very long chamber, flooded with a dim green glow. The ceiling was high enough that it was impossible to make out in the shadows. Sculptures of coiled stone snakes lined the walkway, complemented by small reservoirs of dark water between them. Tall pillars gave the room a since of finality, or strength and structure. They lined the hall, until reaching the end, where the giant statue of an ancient face stood before them, it's mouth opened in an angry _"Oh"_ expression.

Hermione was the first to wrench her eyes away and walk around the massive room. They all explored, looking around at the carvings on the walls and the statues in the floor. Finally Luna noticed that Hermione had stopped at the humungous statue at the far end of the room. Her friend had frowned glancing at it, before looking down as her eyes widened.

"Guys, we can look at the carcass later. There are runes here, carved beneath the statue."

As they hurried over to take a look, sure enough, there they were. A large rectangular plate, wider than tall, underneath the face of Salazar Slytherin. Harry's eyes flickered in surprise.

"I knew I didn't notice everything down here. Can you read what it says?"

Hermione nodded and began to read, muttering to herself intermittently. "It's all in Futhark," she said. "I can read most of it fluently. It says something like 'only a snake-speaker whose power is worthy of my heritage will open this vault. In order to prove yourself, activate my words with the spell in their tongue.'" She glances at Harry. "I think it wants you to mimic the activation spell I cast, in Parseltongue."

He blanched. "I can't draw runes," he argues. Luna shakes her head.

"Hermione just means the spell she cast after, _Patefacio._ " _Is this the moment where things start going wrong?_ She's tense as she speaks to Harry. "Do you think you can say it in parseltongue? The movement is an easy stab forward. It's a really simple spell, just push a bit of your magic into it."

He nods tightly and mutters the word, wincing at unfamiliar Latin. Looking behind him, he focuses on the snake, but this time his voice is a low and resounding hiss. He repeats it twice more. Finally he's pulling his wand, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

" _§Patefacio§_ "

The runes on the stone stele flare a bright green for a moment before fading away. One by one, more runes appear, where before there had been none. Hermione takes in a deep breath and begins to read.

"Your magic proves that you speak the noble tongue. Now prove your might and force of will, and you will be granted entrance." She frowns, looking a little lower. "Are those recognition runes? Why are there eleven of them chained in a sensory array at the bottom here?"

Then the floor beneath them **_rumbled,_** just slightly. In an instant, every wand snapped into their fists. Luna swears to herself under her breath, looking up at the statue. Curiously enough, there's no change to the room that she can see. _Was I wrong? Or is this what I saw? I should have told them...I could have warned them of something..._

It's so quiet in the room that she didn't dare to breathe.

Before she can relax, a low _hissssss,_ begins to sound, long and drawn out.

"I thought you said any snakes wouldn't hatch!" Ron half-whispers and half-yells, throwing a horrified look at Hermione. The brunette is just as tense and confused, her eyes glancing around wildly as her body seems to crackle with chaotic magic.

"I don't kno-"

Neville practically whimpers, his wand pointing behind them. "That's _not_ a bleedin' snake!"

Luna's heart pounded as the _thing_ came into view, stalking around the edge of the dead basilisk's mouth, claws dragging against the stone with long scrapes.

Bone white from head to toe and taller than an average human, it was completely hairless and so thin it looked sickly. Somehow its body was still covered in thin muscles that stood out in tense cords. It stared at them standing at the front of the Chamber, tensed in horrific silence.

For a moment's glimpse, it was reminiscent of Voldemort, but the similarities ended with the slitted nose. Scales covered the creature completely, and its hands and feet were complete with curved black talons that _scrrrratched_ against the stone as it walked. A thick rudderlike tail swished behind and dragged along the ground. Lifeless eyes glared at them with inhuman hatred. The head was crested much like the basilisk itself, bald and rounded without ears. The mouth made her shudder, filled with sharp fangs beneath an elongated snout, looking like a snake mixed with a crocodile and a wolf. A tongue flickered out, tasting the air, and its maw stretched wider in grotesque mockery of a smile. A curved sword gleamed as it slowly was raised high above its head in silent declaration of war.

More hisses resounded throughout the room and Luna found herself taking a step back in dread. Slowly, more shapes moved out from the shadows of the massive chamber, claws scratching against the stone. Dark snake-like voices sounded harmoniously in a monstrous lullaby that echoed around the room like a trembling orchestra of decay.

Harry growls under his breath, his wand pointed and shivering just slightly.

"This was a really bad idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: In the words of a certain Jedi Knight, this is where the fun begins. Don't hate the cliff-hanger folks, a rather long two-part fight scene will be coming in Ch 12.
> 
> The runes Hermione uses are real Elder Futhark, by the way. I tried to use their meaning as intended, but when I do so again in the future it might not be so strict.
> 
> Also note on Neville. He was super-brave against Voldemort, but took a huge blow to his confidence by losing his grandmother right in front of him and being utterly powerless to do anything about it. He hasn't lost his skill and become a coward, but it'll take him time for him to feel stable and strong again. This fight will help him regain some of that as well, though he won't be running at 100%. Also there's some stuff going on with him that we don't understand, because we don't know enough just yet.
> 
> New spells:
> 
> Patefacio - Spell designed to reveal (and occasionally activate) an inscribed runic sequence. Does not activate every kind of rune chain, but rather is used as a stepping stone between them, or to reveal hidden wards, traps, curses, or other rune markings. Wand movement requires a simple forward stab during the incantation.
> 
> .
> 
> .

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Just added this in at the bottom to throw in some blank space at the end.  
> .  
> .


End file.
